Early Lunch
by Rainey13
Summary: Neal just wanted to go to lunch a little early that day. But life has a way of getting complicated.  Set post-Checkmate in Season 3.
1. Lunch Plans

**_OK, the plan was to have this done before the Season 3.5 premier... but, kind of like some of the plans in this story, things didn't go quite as intended. I edited a little to bring it at least mostly in line with Checkmate, but it's been in progress for a few weeks so it may not fully match up. Oh, and thanks to sarahseach who reviewed a story a couple of months ago and challenged me to do a Neal and Sara story, something I hadn't really had on my writing radar. This is not a romance, but I think they learn a lot about each other :-)_**

* * *

><p>"Really? Yeah, I'd like that… It shouldn't be a problem… No, we don't have anything big going on right now… I'll check with Peter. If it's a problem, I'll call you back… See you there."<p>

Neal disconnected the call and then sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand. Of all the people who might have called… well, Sara probably wouldn't have been the one he would have expected. In fact, after their "different people" breakup, and the subsequent introduction of Matthew Keller into her life, she probably would have been near the bottom of his guess list.

Just above the possibility that Keller might call with a genuine offer to apologize.

Even Sara's assertion that the secret of the treasure was safe with her hadn't really changed anything. Of course, that was a moot point now, after dealing with Keller and Elizabeth's abduction. The treasure – at least, what hadn't gone to finance Mozzie's disappearance as soon as Elizabeth was safe – was in the FBI's hands. The Russians' claims to it were being evaluated by the diplomats.

Neal's future was in the FBI's hands, subject to an upcoming hearing.

And now he had a lunch invitation from Sara Ellis to add to the general confusion of his life. There hadn't been a trace of the anger or disappointment that had come through when he'd returned her lock picks, and she'd admitted having seen the treasure. Of course, there hadn't been any of the sexy playfulness that had defined their relationship for a few precious weeks either.

No, if he had to characterize her voice today it would have to be… friendly, yet reserved.

It was a puzzle to be solved. All he had to do was ask Peter if he could take an early lunch.

Yeah…

Asking Peter for a favor now was kind of taking his life into his hands – and putting it into Peter's hands. Neal had done everything he could to rescue Elizabeth, coming out the worse for wear physically. Peter had acknowledged his contributions, even thanked him for what he did.

But underneath it all was the not so subtle accusation that if Neal had not hidden the existence of the treasure in the first place, the rescue would not have been necessary.

He and Peter were being _correct_ with each other – at least, that was the best word he could come up with. They weren't in open warfare, but there was definitely no friendly banter or long conversations over beer and wine.

Maybe Peter would be happy to be rid of him for a while.

There was no spring in his step as he climbed the stairs, but he had pasted an air of confidence on by the time he reached the upper walkway. Sometimes appearances really were everything.

The office door was partially open and Neal reached in, rapping his knuckles on the wood. He waited until Peter looked up and acknowledged him before entering. _Yeah, that was new behavior too, instead of just bounding in…_

"Neal?"

"Since we don't have anything urgent on right now, is it all right if I take an early lunch?"

Peter's expression was instantly one of suspicion as he leaned back in the chair. "Any particular reason?"

_Well, there really wasn't any reason not to be absolutely honest…_ "Sara called. She wants to meet."

That obviously got Peter's attention, and he leaned forward in his chair again. "Really? Is this the reconciliation phase?"

Neal shrugged. "She didn't explain why she wanted to meet. Just that she'd tell me when she saw me – and she has a client meeting this afternoon, so it has to be early."

"And if I called Sara…"

Neal sighed in resignation; not that he expected Peter's _full_ trust, but just a little would be nice. "I imagine she'd be a little annoyed, but she'd tell you the same thing."

Peter seemed to be considering that, and then he nodded. "Fine. Just remember we have a briefing on the Westmore case this afternoon."

Neal nodded, already turning to the door. "I'll be back."

* * *

><p>The café Sara had chosen was on a quiet side street near a park, with a terrace overlooking the green expanse. A quick reconnaissance confirmed that he had arrived first, so Neal requested a table outdoors. And given the warm weather, he decided on a nice chilled white wine, ordering a bottle of Riesling.<p>

The wine arrived, and he had just taken his first sips, when he saw her come around the corner. As usual, her stride was purposeful and quick. But her wardrobe was simply… not Sara. Instead of the stylish pantsuits or high fashion dresses she normally sported, today she was in jeans – designer, to be sure, but he'd rarely seen her in denim. With her hair tied back and covered by a baseball cap, eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, she really didn't look like the Sara Ellis he was used to.

He stood as she approached the table, but his smile froze half-formed as he watched her look nervously around; out of habit, he looked around himself.

He stepped around the table to pull her chair out. Nothing _seemed_ out of place. "Everything all right?"

Sara took her seat – and a deep breath. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Neal sat down again, using the motion to check the surroundings again. "You're a little under-dressed."

"I took the morning off."

"And your reconnaissance of the area was fairly obvious."

She looked at him for a moment, opened her mouth as if to reply, and then slowly shook her head. "It's probably nothing."

"Something related to one of your cases that you can't tell me about?"

Sara chose to ignore the question, instead pointing to the bottle. "How's the wine?"

He took the hint and dropped the questioning – for the moment. "Quite refreshing," he answered, filling her glass.

She took a sip, nodding her approval. "Very nice. Have you ordered?"

"Nope. Waiting for you." He watched as she picked up the menu, pretending to be studying it. But from the slight angle he had on her, it was clear her eyes were really focused on the street. "You picked this place," he started, still not seeing anything out of the ordinary around them. "Have you been here before so you have a recommendation?"

"Hmmmm? Oh, I think the Asian chicken salad is perfect for lunch."

"Sounds good." He lifted his hand, getting the waiter's attention. When the server got to the table, Neal pointed at the menu item. "Two of the chicken salads, please. And a crock of the French onion soup to share."

That finally got a small smile from Sara as the waiter moved away. "I thought _your_ French onion soup was the best anywhere."

"Maybe I just like to check out my competition." He leaned back in his chair, sipping the wine. "I'm glad you called."

"Me too," she admitted. "Sometimes I do miss having you around."

"Sara, I'm sorry…"

She shook her head, holding up a hand to stop him. "Neal, don't. Please. We can't change anything that happened."

"True. But I don't want us to be enemies."

"Tell me where the Raphael is and you'll have my eternal gratitude."

"That's what lunch is about? The Raphael?"

"No. No, that's not it at all." She shifted nervously in her chair, taking another look at the street. "I think someone has been following me."

"Sara, tell me."

She sighed, took another look around, and finally turned back to him. "Do you remember when I asked you about ways to defeat a Tech-98 alarm system?"

"Sure. I told you about the Wi-Fi angle."

"Yeah. It was actually about a week later before I could get in."

"Should have let me help you."

"It wasn't the Tech-98. The target just suddenly had a lot of company. I don't think even Wally Burns could have gotten in."

"More company than normal, I take it."

"Definitely. But just as quickly, they all left again. I waited a couple of days and went in – with bolt cutters." She looked around again before slipping her hand into her bag. "Recognize this?"

Neal looked down at the photo she slid across the table. Then he looked again, surprised. "This looks like a Crosse miniature."

"Good eye. Forged any?"

Neal ignored the little jab and studied the photo. "It's the real thing?"

Sara nodded. "I had to wait a bit for our authentication expert to get back to town."

"I could have done it for you."

"Separation of work and pleasure, remember?"

He grinned. "Right. So if it's the real thing, what's the problem?"

"When Pablo was examining the miniature, he found something hidden behind it." She pulled out an envelope, once again looking nervously over her shoulder. "This is a copy, after the Sterling Bosch analysts finally decrypted it," she said, shaking a micro-SD card onto the table.

Intrigued, Neal pulled out his phone and slid the card in. He paged through the documents for a few minutes, finally pausing when the server arrived with their salads. "Thank you."

"Anything else right now?" the waiter asked.

Sara shook her head. "This is fine, thanks."

When they were alone again, Neal looked up. "Cyril Donnelly? As in the deputy police commissioner?"

"Yeah. Documentation of a whole shadow unit he's running. Everything from fixing parking tickets for political cronies to vigilante action against people accused of major crimes."

"But who got off on technicalities," Neal finished.

"Exactly."

"So you want to take this to Peter?"

"I don't know if he'd have jurisdiction. But not knowing how far this goes, I can't take it to the police."

"True. Why didn't you just come to the office?"

That caused Sara to take another look around. For a moment, she seemed to be studying something, but before Neal could decide if he should look, she turned back to him. "There's something else. The first time I thought someone might be following me… well, we were still together. And I think I might have seen someone outside of June's one morning when I left."

"So they might know about me."

"Maybe. And maybe they'll think you know something. I wanted to talk to you about that without other people around."

"Thanks. I haven't noticed anyone, and I'm usually pretty good at seeing a tail."

"Remnant of that misspent youth?"

He grinned. "Something like that. All right, let's eat, and then we'll go talk to Peter."

* * *

><p>The taxi drove by slowly, the driver seeming to look for an address. Just past the restaurant the vehicle stopped, and a man in a non-descript suit got out, walking toward an office building. But instead of going in, he slipped into a narrow alley just beyond the door.<p>

Around the corner a black SUV pulled over to the curb; with the tinted windows, it was impossible to see the occupants. Just behind that vehicle, a dark green panel van stopped. The side door slid open just a couple of inches, as if someone might be watching.

They waited.


	2. Chase

Neal reached for the bill when it came, his other hand going for his wallet.

"I invited you," Sara pointed out. "I should get that."

He laid cash out, shaking his head. "It was just good to see you again. Well worth the price of lunch." There was actually more he'd wanted to talk to her about – things he needed to say – but the information she'd brought had made other discussion seem unwise.

Hopefully after they talked to Peter she'd agree to dinner.

They walked past the wrought iron fence surrounding the terrace and Sara raised her hand to flag down a cab…

Neal grabbed her arm, leading her the other way.

"What, you want to walk all the way?" she asked.

"Something about the number on that cab," he said. "It's been by at least three times."

"Maybe looking for a fare?" But her voice held a trace of hesitation now too.

"Maybe. There was just something off about it." He headed them toward the intersection, turning south. "We'll go a couple of blocks up. More traffic there."

But they hadn't even made it half a block before there was the sound of heavy footsteps behind them, getting closer fast.

With a quick glance at the street to verify there were no vehicles coming, Neal headed toward the other side, Sara's hand still firmly in his. Sure, it was possible someone was just in a hurry, but…

The footsteps followed them.

Their best bet was still to get to a busier street, somewhere with more people, more cover. And now he was really glad that Sara had dressed down, because the shoes she had on now had much more sensible heels for moving fast than the fashion footwear she often favored.

He could feel the tension in Sara's body, radiating through her hand. But her grip on him was firm, and she kept up with him easily. Panic definitely wasn't something that came easily to Sara Ellis.

The footsteps coming even closer could be cause for just a little worry though.

He picked up the pace to an easy jog, Sara keeping pace at his side. He felt her tug his hand, gesturing to the right. Two blocks down there was a traffic light, lots of businesses. She was thinking about the same thing he had been. It probably would have been a little closer to continue the way he had been heading, but he had already started to follow her. And either way, the closer they got to more trafficked areas, the safer they'd be.

That's when he saw the two men coming out of an alley in front of them, heading toward them. And the footsteps behind them were coming closer.

Sara pulled his hand again, heading across the street. She had started to run, and he was in step with her.

That's when the black SUV came racing up from the side street, cutting right in front of them.

By the time Neal pulled Sara back the way they had come, the two men who had been following them had caught up. The two from the alley were there as well, cutting off one possible escape route. In fact, they were cut off on three sides.

Almost as one, Neal and Sara turned toward the fourth – last – option. But that was quickly blocked by a dark green van. The side door slid open and three more men got out.

The noose closed quickly. The only possible option Neal saw was a narrow alley on the west side. If they could get in there, their pursuers would all be behind them. Which gave them a chance – assuming the alley wasn't a dead end.

He tightened his grip on Sara's hand, using his other hand to reach into the pocket of his suit coat. His fingers found the buttons on his phone, and he pulled up the first speed dial number, hoping that Peter hadn't gone to a meeting, or otherwise gotten occupied to where he wouldn't have his phone on.

Hoping he could actually get the call connected without looking.

It was going to be close getting to the alley, and for a brief moment he really thought they were going to make it. But one of the men from the van was quicker. Fervently wishing he'd had a chance to get some of that self-defense training, Neal lowered his shoulder and bowled into the man at full speed. It knocked them both off balance, and he felt his grip on Sara's hand slipping away.

As he fell to ground, grappling with the attacker, he got a brief glimpse of Sara dropping her bag, the expandable baton in her hand.

But there were too many men surrounding them – too many for just the two of them to fend off. He heard Sara cry out in frustration as she was grabbed from behind. The man he had tackled was on his feet again, and another had Neal in his grip from behind. He struggled for all he was worth, felt the second man's grip loosen for a moment.

It wasn't enough, as a third man joined them, and Neal doubled over, gasping in pain after a huge ham-sized fist buried itself in his gut.

The van pulled up closer, and out of the corner of his eye, Neal could see them dragging Sara toward the vehicle. Then another blow hit him, and everything went blurry as he struggled against the pain.

He could feel himself being dragged toward the van, and his muscles refused to cooperate in trying to do anything to stop that. But when one of the men holding him stopped to pick up his hat, Neal got one hand free. He managed to get his phone out of his pocket, dropping it into a planter at the foot of some steps.

Neal heard Sara cry out again, and he looked up just in time to see one of the men press a Taser against her neck. Her limp body was tossed into the back of the van even as his captors dragged him closer.

He heard the crackling sound of electricity just a quick moment before another man used a second Taser against him. The shock coursed through his body…

He was unconscious before his body hit the floor of the van next to Sara.

* * *

><p>Peter glared at the empty desk by the doors as he stood just inside his office, his phone held to his ear. But, just like the other three times, the phone rang several times, and then Neal's voicemail greeting came on.<p>

"Neal, wherever the hell you are, you'd better get your ass back to the office now!"

It would have been more satisfying to slam a phone receiver down at the moment, but he had to content himself with stabbing at the _end_ button on the cell phone much harder than necessary.

Everyone else was already waiting in the conference room to discuss the Westmore case, and he turned his attention to that. Dealing with his wayward consultant would have to wait.

* * *

><p>When consciousness returned, the first thing he noticed was that his head hurt. Then he noticed that pretty much everything hurt.<p>

Slowly, trying not to give away that he was waking up, Neal started to take inventory. The pounding in his head? Probably a combination of after effects from the Taser shock, and the fact that he was lying on his side, his head bumping against bare metal. Probably in a moving vehicle – it felt like they were moving, and that would explain why his head was bumping up and down.

Hadn't there been a van? Yeah, a green van. He was on the floor of the van.

Moving down, it hurt when he drew in a deep breath. Right, the guy with the huge fists had hit him, more than once.

His legs were a little numb, probably from the way he was positioned, but he didn't want to move just yet. A little testing led to the conclusion that his feet were unrestrained.

That might have been good news, except his next test showed that his hands were, most definitely, restrained. The good news was that it felt like regular handcuffs, and he could work with that. The bad news was that getting out of the cuffs would be virtually impossible without giving away that he was awake.

_Sara…_

He knew his own condition, more or less. And he could smell the almond shampoo she liked, so she must be close.

Very slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes just a crack. Sara was right in front of him, facing away, her hair inches away. She wasn't moving, but he didn't know if that meant she was still unconscious from the shock, or if she might just be biding her time like he was.

Neal closed his eyes again, letting his other senses take over. Beyond the scent of Sara's shampoo was something else… Diesel? Yeah, it smelled like diesel.

Something shifted behind him, and there was a soft grunting noise accompanying the movement. There was at least one person behind him, apparently also on the van floor. So he must be facing the front – which felt right compared to the vehicle's movement.

A warbling sound from the front – someone's cell phone ringing. "Yeah. We've got them… Should be there in about five minutes… Got it."

_Five minutes…_

How could he possibly get his own cuffs off, overcome at least two – probably armed – men, free Sara, and get them out of the van in so little time.

The answer was, he probably couldn't – but he had to try. Trying to stay as limp as possible, he waited for the next bump and used it to roll partway onto his back. He didn't want all of his weight on his hands, but he needed something to block his movements.

There was no reaction to the movement, so he carefully felt around his wrists. The cuffs were on fairly tight – too tight to simply slip. He could probably dislocate his thumb and slip one ring off, but doing that without reacting to the pain would be pretty difficult.

That left picking the locks – and to do that, he needed a pick. He flexed his fingers, trying to work past the tingling that lying on his arms was causing. The digits still felt heavy, clumsy as he started trying to remove one of his cufflinks. Byron had definitely known how to make the most of his accessories, and if he just had time…

"Hey, are they still out?"

The question came from up front, and it meant that someone in the back moved to check their hostages. Rough hands grabbed his shoulder, rolled him all the way onto his back. Neal managed to maintain his charade of unconsciousness – but now his hands were trapped.

And the five minutes were ticking away.

He felt a body lean over him; definitely didn't smell as good as Sara. But the man was apparently checking on her.

"Both still out cold, Joe."

"All right. We're almost at the meet-up point. Ryan's already there – he'll take care of that tracking anklet. Then we'll head for the rendezvous."

The van bounced up and over something, and Neal was jostled against the man who was still leaning over him. He forced himself to stay very still.

Then they stopped, and the side door slid open; he could feel the sun shining in on them.

Someone pulled the leg of his pants up, exposing the anklet. "You got the right key for this?"

A new voice answered. "Yeah, it should be one of these. But you tell Cy this was never part of our deal."

"Your deal is whatever the boss tells you it is."

There was some indistinct mumbling, and Neal felt hands pulling at his ankle, turning his foot. And then there was the soft click of the lock disengaging. The weight of the anklet fell away.

"Just toss it," one of the men from the van said. "He sure ain't gonna need it."

"How long do those shocks usually last?"

"Different for every person. But might as well give them the drugs so we're sure we won't have any trouble at the next stop."

Neal felt hands grab him, pull him up. His suit coat was pulled down off of his shoulder, and then he felt the needle.

_Shit…_


	3. Searching

"All right, you have your assignments. Let's get on it." Peter closed the folder in front of him, probably a little more firmly than he normally would. "Jones, Diana, hang on a minute."

The conference room cleared out as the other agents left, most of them hurrying. It hadn't taken a fully trained agent with years of experience to pick up on the fact that Peter Burke was irritated – and the untouched folder still sitting on the table gave a pretty good clue as to why.

The briefing had been missing a key participant – specifically, the man who was supposed to be going undercover as a potential buyer with the man they suspected of having pilfered a number of rare Persian artifacts over the past few months.

Peter stalked over to the door, pushing it closed as soon as the other agents had cleared the room. As he turned back, he pulled out his phone, scowling at the screen.

"Still no message?" Diana guessed.

"Nothing." Peter pointed at the laptop still open in front of Jones. "I want Caffrey's tracking data since he left the office."

As Jones began pulling up the US Marshals' site, Peter dialed the phone again – and once again, he was listening to Neal's voicemail message. "Caffrey, if you don't return this call in the next five minutes, I swear, you're back in orange when I find you."

Diana and Jones exchanged a glance, clearly uncomfortable, and Peter pretended to not notice.

"I've got the tracking info," Jones said, turning his screen to share it with the others.

They watched as the blinking dot left what was clearly identifiable as the federal building area. After a brief journey, apparently by taxi, given the speed, the dot was then stationary for a while.

"What's in that area?" Peter asked.

Jones zoomed the focus in. "West Village," he said. "Lots of little restaurants and shops." He jotted down the intersection closest to the flashing dot and handed it to Diana.

She had a map program pulled up on her laptop, and quickly found the area. "Looks like the Chantilly café."

"He said he was meeting Sara for lunch," Peter muttered before turning back to Jones. "How long was he there?"

"Sixty-two minutes."

"About right for lunch," Diana offered.

Peter leaned in closer to the screen again. "Then what?"

Jones pulled the focus back out and started the playback again. The dot made a zigzag pattern for a few blocks and then moved rapidly north. Jones fast-forwarded until it stopped and then pulled a close-up of the area. "Harlem. Right around Saint Nicholas Park." Jones tapped a few more keys, bringing the display back to real time. "He's still there."

_That didn't make sense…_ "So he's sitting in a park when he was supposed to be here for a briefing?"

Jones shrugged. "That's what the signal shows."

Peter nodded and headed for his office. "All right, let's go."

* * *

><p><em>Hands on his legs, under his arms, moving…<em>

Neal forced his eyes open, and then wished he hadn't. Everything was blurry, out of focus. Combined with the jostling movement, it made him queasy. He scrunched his eyes shut, waited a moment, and then tried again.

He was being carried by three men, over some uneven ground. There was one man on each of his legs, and another holding him under his shoulders. That wasn't good. Even if he could convince his muscles to respond to his brain – which seemed pretty near impossible at the moment – it would be hard to get away from three men.

_Armed_ men, he corrected, noting the holster bulges on the two men he could see.

He could smell the river – but _which_ river? He shifted his eyes, trying not to move his head. Things were a little blurry still, but that certainly looked like the Madison Avenue bridge to his right. That would place them in Harlem.

_How the hell did he wind up in Harlem? The last thing he remembered…_

Sara! He'd had lunch with Sara, they were chased. Where was she?

He struggled against the hands holding him, trying to look around. He saw other men off to one side – were they carrying someone?

The man at his shoulders yelled something. Neal couldn't make out the words through the ringing in his head, but he figured there was a good chance it had to do with him being awake. He tried again to pull away, but his movements were sluggish, and he couldn't even get one leg free.

They kept moving forward, and beyond them he saw a boat tied up. _But there weren't any piers here…_

Then he saw a man approaching, Taser in hand. He tried to pull away, but he couldn't. The electricity arced, he felt the touch against his neck…

And then there was nothing.

* * *

><p>Hands on his hips, and a scowl on his face, Peter surveyed the park. "All right, where, Jones?"<p>

"This shows straight ahead, about a hundred yards."

Peter didn't see anything straight ahead except a dense copse of trees and bushes, but he started forward anyway. Maybe there was something on the other side. But as they reached the area, Jones stopped him.

"We're almost right on top of the signal."

Diana shrugged and pushed her way into the brush. After setting aside the laptop, Jones followed. Peter tried skirting the trees, still thinking there might be an explanation on the other side, but the thicket was larger than it had appeared from a distance.

"Got it!"

Peter turned just as Diana appeared from the brush, holding the tracking anklet over her head.

"It doesn't look like it's been tampered with," she said, examining the band.

Peter shook his head slowly. "He got another key somehow."

"But why would he run now?" Jones asked. "I mean, if he stayed before, when he could have left with the treasure, why now?"

"Because he knows about the hearing next week," Peter replied, reaching for his phone. "He's probably afraid they'll send him back to prison. Jones, call the marshals, tell them to put out an alert."

Jones didn't look convinced, but he pulled out his phone and stepped away to make the call.

"Diana, head over to the café. See if anyone remembers seeing him, and if anything out of the ordinary happened. Oh, and get someone to check his phone, see if it's still on."

"Caffrey's a little too smart for that."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Peter replied, starting to punch in a number. "I'm going to call Sara and see if she was ever really meeting him…"

* * *

><p>When he came to this time, he immediately wished he hadn't. His head felt like it was about to explode. The light was way too bright, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut again. His whole body ached like he had never experienced before. And if ever he had taken a whole bag of cotton balls and stuffed them in his mouth, he figured it would have to feel like what he was getting now when he tried to swallow.<p>

Memories of how the day had gone came back, and with them a renewed sense of urgency. Neal forced his eyes open, fought against the nausea that the light caused. While his blurred vision cleared, he used his other senses. He was sitting up this time, on what felt like a hard-backed chair. His hands were restrained behind the chair back, but it still felt like regular handcuffs; good, he could work with that when the time came. And the bindings holding his ankles tight to the chair legs felt like rope, which would be much easier to deal with than several other options.

But first he needed to assess his surroundings. After all, if there were three armed thugs behind him, just itching to shoot, it wouldn't really make sense to give away the fact that he could get out of the cuffs.

Very carefully, just in case those armed men _were_ behind him, he lifted his head. There were two narrow bunks in front of him, one over the other. And even though it really didn't seem germane to his current predicament, he couldn't help but cringe a little at the horrid green paisley print on the bed covers.

Turning his head slowly to the right, he saw a double-doored cabinet, probably a wardrobe of some sort. And another door, rounded around the edges – kind of what he'd expect on a boat. Which made sense, as memories of what he'd seen before being tased the last time.

_And now that he thought about the boat, there did seem to be a rocking motion to the room…_

Okay, a boat, and this was one of the cabins. As small as it was, it still seemed large for the boat Neal remembered seeing. Of course, he'd been unconscious again after that brief peek, so for all he knew this could have been the third or fourth vessel.

There was no sign of any armed guard behind him, so Neal took a chance and raised his head all the way, turning to his left.

_Sara!_

She was secured to a chair just like he was, with the same combination of handcuffs and rope. The sleeve of her blouse was ripped, and there were stains on her jeans, as if she'd been dragged across the grass. A trickle of blood had dried on her right temple. Just beyond her chair there was a window, but the curtains were pulled across it so he couldn't see anything.

Turning just a little farther, he could see a desk and a narrow couch behind him, but they were alone in the room. "Sara?" He got no answer so he pulled against his bonds, forcing the chair to move a little closer to her. "Sara!"

This time he at least got a moan in return, so he jerked his chair a little closer until he could touch her shoulder with his. "Sara?"

The slight jostling seemed to register as she moaned again, and then her eyes popped open. For a long moment her eyes seemed unfocused, just as his had been, but then she turned toward him. "Neal?"

"Yeah. Are you all right?"

Sara drew in a deep breath as she appeared to be taking inventory. "I think so, yeah. Do you know where we are?"

"On a boat of some sort, near as I can tell. Beyond that, I don't know."

"Shit."

"Yeah, that sums it up."

"Neal, I'm sorry. I'd only ever seen one man. If I'd had any idea…"

"Hey, don't worry about that now. Let's just think about a way out of here."

Sara pulled at her hands, the cuffs jingling softly. "I'm afraid I didn't implement your lessons. I had my picks in my purse, but I don't have anything on me."

"Well, I can handle the cuffs," he replied. "I'd just feel better if I knew where we were, or how many people we have to get through to get out of here. Once I tip my hand on opening the cuffs, we may not get another chance. Do you remember anything?"

"Running with you. I tried to use the baton, but there were too many of them. They grabbed me, took my purse, and then the Taser."

"Yeah, that part sounds familiar."

"Wait, what about your anklet? When you don't go back…"

Neal shook his head. "Sorry, they found it. And apparently they have a contact with the marshals' office, because they met up with someone with a key. They drugged me right after that."

"But Peter will be looking."

The hopeful tone in her voice made him smile, just a little. "Oh, yeah. Probably already is. But if we're on a boat somewhere…"

"A lot of water to hide on."

"Yeah. Look, do you think you can scoot your chair toward the window? Maybe you can get the curtains open a little."

Sara nodded and jerked her body to the left. The chair tilted for a moment, then settled back down. She took a deep breath, shifted until she could get her feet planted on the floor, and then tried again. This time the chair moved – only a few inches, but it was a start. A few more tries and she was next to the window. Leaning forward, she grabbed the fabric in her teeth and pulled.

Neal had pulled his chair a little closer too, and now they both stared out the portal…

Which showed them nothing but the deep blue sea and, beyond that the horizon, with the sun settling low in the sky.

* * *

><p>Hands on his hips, a scowl on his face, Peter surveyed the evidence laid out before him on the conference room table. The tracker lay front and center, mute testimony to the missing status of a certain consultant.<p>

Blake and Westley were canvassing the area, looking for traffic and other surveillance cameras. But since they had no idea whether they were even looking for a vehicle, much less what kind, the traffic cameras were a long shot. And if they were really looking for one person on foot… well, he wished the junior agents luck.

Diana had a grainy shot from a bank ATM across the street from the Chantilly. The tech guys were working on the image, trying to enhance it, but it certainly appeared to be Neal and Sara. The café staff had made a positive identification. _So at least that part of Neal's story had been true…_

Beyond that, Sara hadn't returned the message he had left at her office. And a call to the main Sterling Bosch line only got him someone who confirmed that Ms. Ellis was not in her office at the moment. But due to the confidential nature of the company's recovery work, no information could be divulged about any particular work she might have been doing, or where it might have taken her.

Peter looked up as Jones walked in. "Anything?"

The younger agent laid a cell phone down on the table. "Found this in a planter a couple of blocks from the café."

Peter picked up the phone, looking at the icon showing unheard messages – probably all from him. But when he tried to open them, the phone was locked. "Password protected," he sighed, putting it back on the table.

"I'll get it to the tech guys, see if they can get in."

"Good. Let me know."

"Will do."

Peter leaned back in his chair, turning toward the window. "So he left the phone in the Village, and the anklet in Harlem?"

"Someone called in a disturbance right near the café, right around noon. Diana's talking with the locals, trying to see if it's related."

"No cameras, I suppose."

Jones shook his head. "Side streets. Unless there's a home owner with a security system, we've got nothing."

Peter slumped down into a chair, rubbing his temples. "It just doesn't make sense."

"You really think Neal set this up and ran?"

"I don't know. If he's worried about that hearing, maybe."

"Yeah, but Neal's smart, and he knew about the Westmore briefing. If he really had access to a key, why not wait until after work, when no one would know he's gone until tomorrow?"

"Good question. All right, pull the case files for the last couple of months, anything Caffrey's been involved with. Let's start there and see if anything jumps out."


	4. Deep Water

"Maybe we could still see land if we were on the other side of the boat."

Neal gave that a perfunctory nod, struck by how Sara's voice conveyed both hopefulness, and hopelessness, at the same time. "Yeah, maybe."

He was just considering whether it might be time to get rid of the handcuffs after all when there was the sound of the door being unlocked. A moment later, three men walked in, two of them with guns drawn.

"Good, you're awake. That'll make things easier."

Neal studied the man for a moment, weighing his options. He wasn't really tall, probably a couple of inches under six feet. He wasn't particularly big, either, nor did he appear to be the type who worked out a lot; his tan suit, while well-fitted, didn't show a lot of muscle underneath. And he wore an achingly over-confident smile, which, in Neal's experience, usually meant the person had no real reason to be confident.

Except, of course, in this case, when the man in the tan suit was backed by hired muscle. The other two guys obviously _did_ work out – a lot. Add in the semi-automatics they carried, and the options he and Sara had were rather limited, at least for the moment.

"I'm all for easy," Neal said, trying to keep his tone light, but not overly so. He definitely didn't want these men to think he wasn't taking the situation seriously. "But really, I think you've got the wrong people here. I mean, we were just having lunch."

He got a fist across his jaw for his efforts.

Reeling a bit from the blow, Neal was only vaguely aware of the ropes being removed from his legs. Then he was being pulled to his feet and pushed toward the door. He stumbled into the narrow hall as he heard Sara objecting to the rough treatment behind him.

They went down the hall, up a short flight of steps, and into an open parlor at the back of the boat.

And actually, Neal decided, he needed to amend his idea of the vessel they were on. This was definitely not the fairly small boat he recalled from the river in Harlem. No, he would have to classify this one as a yacht. Absolutely top of the line – under other circumstances, he could quite enjoy a cruise on a vessel like this.

He was pushed down onto a narrow couch along one side wall, and a moment later Sara was deposited next to him. From the fresh trickle of blood at her lip, it looked like she'd fought back a bit.

Really, he'd expect nothing less.

Trying to move as little as possible, he looked around. The three men who had taken them from the cabin were there, two of them with guns drawn again. They were standing around the edges of the room, with one blocking the door to the back deck of the yacht, and another at the doorway to the hall they had just exited. Mr. Tan Suit was lounging against the bar.

Neal's eyes went toward the back of the yacht, hoping to find that Sara was right, and that land was still visible on one side. But all he saw behind them was water – and the setting sun directly to the rear, which meant they were heading pretty much due east.

Now, he didn't know for sure how long they had been unconscious, or how long they had been on this yacht, or how long they had been moving at a fairly high speed. But assuming that they had turned east after clearing the harbors around New York, they must already be past the Hamptons. And what did that leave between them and Europe? Nothing that he could think of, except a lot of water.

A lot of very _deep_ water.

They waited, for what seemed like a long time, though Neal knew it was probably no more than four or five minutes. And then another man came up the stairs from the hallway below. He was stocky, his chest broad, stretching against the tight polo shirt he wore. His dark head was clean-shaven, his biceps bulging under the short sleeves.

Definitely not Cyril Donnelly; the deputy commissioner's photo had been in the paper enough that Neal knew he'd recognize the man. But whoever the newcomer was, he was obviously a rung up from the other men on the power structure, judging by the subtle way the three men deferred to him.

"It's a great day for a little cruise on the open ocean, isn't it."

"I wish you'd called ahead," Neal replied. "We didn't have a chance to pack appropriately."

The man's grin was not encouraging. "Oh, I think you'll find you have everything you need." He reached over to a table on his left and picked something up. "Mr. Caffrey, is it?"

Neal shrugged. "If you have my ID, I guess you know who I am."

"Oh, we do. Quite the interesting history you have. Con man, thief, forger – and now FBI snitch."

"Actually, I prefer consultant. But you seem to know quite a bit about me, and yet I don't even know your name."

"You can call me Gavin, if that helps."

Neal nodded, opting for a small, relieved smile. "It does. Because, Gavin, I think there's been some big mistake here, and I hope we can fix it."

"Oh, there's been a mistake, all right," Gavin agreed – but Neal found the man's slick smile anything but reassuring. "But before we get to that, can you explain why a big-time FBI _consultant_ wasn't carrying a cell phone? We didn't find one."

The lie rolled easily off of Neal's tongue. "I was surprised by Sara's call, and I left in a hurry. I was halfway to the restaurant before I realized I didn't have it."

"Hmmmmm." Gavin stared straight at him for a long moment, as if weighing that statement. And then he turned to Sara. "And then we have the lovely Ms. Ellis. I imagine you know why you're here."

"Actually, I have no idea," she replied, and Neal was impressed by the steadiness in her voice. "I'm an insurance investigator. I can't imagine what you want with me."

"Maybe you just need a little help with your imagination then." The smile disappeared from Gavin's face and he pulled a chair up, sitting right in front of Sara, his face inches from hers. "Where is it?"

Now there was a slight tremor in her voice as she answered. "What is it you want?"

"Oh, I think you know what we want." Gavin's finger trailed down her cheek as he spoke, and Neal could see her shiver.

"I don't," Sara insisted.

"All right, I'll play the game, for now. See, there was this guy, Benji Bartoli. Now Benji, he had a habit of acquiring things that weren't his. One thing in particular is real important to this story. See, Benji stole this piece of art – some stupid little miniature painting. Piece of crap, if you ask me, and I couldn't care less about it. Except, you see, the guy Benji sold it to had stolen something too, and he hid it behind that miniature. Now _that's_ what I'm interested in."

Sara leaned back away from Gavin, just a bit, before answering. "My company had received credible information about a piece that we insured. Not enough to take to the police or the FBI, but enough for me to go in and check it out. I was just recovering our client's property."

"Yeah, except your client's property included something that shouldn't have been there."

"I don't know anything about…"

Gavin's fist slammed down on the table, making both it and Sara jump. "No, see, I think you do. And either you or pretty boy here will tell me what I want to know."

* * *

><p>Neal hit the floor, hard, and he couldn't stifle a groan. With his hands still cuffed behind him, it hadn't been possible to break the fall at all.<p>

He was just working his way to a seated position when Sara was shoved into the room. She fell, knocking him back down, and he felt the air leave his lungs as her elbow slammed into his already-sore ribs.

After that, he was only vaguely aware of hands pulling him up, putting him back onto the same chair as before. And then he felt the ropes binding his legs again. To his left, Sara was receiving the same treatment.

Finally, the men left the cabin, pulling the door closed with a loud bang. _Or maybe it just seemed loud because of the other pounding in his head…_

"Sara?"

It took a moment before she lifted her head, and when she did, the bruises along her cheek were vivid against her otherwise fair skin. "I don't think I can hold out much longer," she said, nearly whispering.

"Yeah, I know."

"If we tell them about the card…"

"Sara, if they just wanted the information, why bring us out here to deep water?"

"Yeah, that's not a very good sign, is it?"

"Not likely."

"Do you think Peter's found anything?"

"I'm sure they have my phone by now – that was probably one of the first things they looked for, after the anklet."

"But I don't think there's anything in those files to help him find us."

"No, I think we're on our own for that."

"Any ideas?"

"Well, how good a swimmer are you?"

"Your plan is to _swim_ all the way back to New York?"

"Well, no. I saw two emergency life raft bins out on the back deck. Hopefully they're not empty."

"So we sneak out and steal one of those?"

"That's the basic plan, yes." Neal twisted his hands behind his back until he could work one of his cufflinks free. _Byron had designed some magnificent tools into his accessories._ "They said we'll have one more chance to talk in the morning, so hopefully most of these guys will be trying to get some sleep."

"We give them a chance to nod off…"

"Then we make our way to the back, grab one of the rafts, and go into the water." The slim probe folded out easily, and he worked the end into the keyhole on the cuffs. His wrists were raw from pulling against the cuffs, and it took a couple of extra tries because of the blood. But it wasn't really very long until the first lock opened; with his hands in front of him, the second cuff was opened even faster. Then it took a couple of minutes to deal with the knots on the ropes binding his legs, but he was soon free.

He knelt behind Sara next, opening the handcuffs binding her. Together they got the ropes off of her legs. And then Sara's head dropped softly onto his shoulder, and he reached one hand up, carding his fingers in her hair as he held her close.

"I'm so sorry I dragged you into this," she whispered.

"Hey, we're not done yet." _And hopefully that sounded more confident than he actually felt. They were in the middle of the fricking ocean, after all…_

"Yeah." Sara pulled back a little, looking up into his eyes. "And if anyone can get us out of this, it's you. This should be nothing compared to a maximum security prison."

"True. But there's a whole lot of ocean out there." He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her fingers. "Let's give them just a little more time to settle in for the night."

"What if they decide to check on us one more time?"

Neal got to his feet, picked up the chair he had been tied to, and wedged it under the door handle. "That should buy us a little time anyway." He opened the wardrobe next, and pulled out two of the four life vests stored inside. Nothing else in the wardrobe seemed helpful so he moved on. "I'll get this window unlocked so we're ready," he said, handing one of the vests to Sara. "We'll wind up in the water one way or another, even if there is a raft."

Sara took the vest, nodding her understanding. "Sounds like… fun."

Neal took care of the flimsy lock on the window; obviously, the designers hadn't really expected anyone to try and break out of the cabin. Then he grabbed his vest and sat on the floor under the window, reaching for Sara's hand. He guided her down next to him, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah. And we'll teach these guys not to mess with the team of Ellis and Caffrey."

_Now if only he could convince himself that this plan would – could – work…_

* * *

><p>It was almost ten o'clock before Peter finally admitted defeat for the day, turned off his office lights, and headed home.<p>

They still only had bits and pieces of what might, or might not, have happened with Neal and Sara. The photos definitely showed that they had, indeed, met at the café, and the staff said they'd eaten lunch. Nothing unusual yet.

But what happened after that was still a puzzle missing several pieces.

The tech guys had promised they'd have the contents of Neal's phone available by morning, so maybe there would be a clue or two there. And that would pretty much double what they knew, because they had precious little other information.

Someone from Sterling Bosch had finally admitted that Sara had not shown up when expected, and that she seemed to be unreachable. Her current and recent case files had been promised by morning.

With both Sara and Neal missing, Peter had to admit that his first assumption – that Neal had run out of fear over what might happen at next week's hearing – might have been a bit hasty. Even if Neal had decided to go on the run, it didn't seem like him to drag Sara along.

Unless, of course, she had been a willing participant in his plan.

But as far as Peter knew, the two of them really were no longer a couple. In fact, Neal had seemed genuinely puzzled about the reason for the lunch call when Peter had asked.

Jones, Diana, and some of the junior agents had been pouring over the White Collar unit's cases for the last six months, looking for anything out of the ordinary. But the thing was, even with the U-boat treasure secret in the background, Neal's work had been stellar. The only case they could find where his cover had been broken was with Raquel Laroque, when Keller had interrupted the operation. Raquel was still locked up, and definitely seemed far more upset with Keller than with Neal. _As evidenced by that kiss she'd laid on Neal in the interrogation area – definitely a first for a suspect in Peter's experience._

They'd continue looking into the FBI cases in the morning, see if something came up.

And maybe there would be something in Sara's cases.

_Neal as an innocent bystander, caught up in some plot against Sara? That almost seemed too hard to believe…_

Well, he wasn't going to find the answers tonight. He had to admit, he couldn't even focus on the files in front of him any longer. So for now, it was time to get home to Elizabeth. He could pick up the chase again the next day.


	5. Discovery

"Sara, I think it's time."

Neal wasn't sure just how long they had been sitting there on the floor, but he'd guess about an hour. Plenty of time for their kidnappers to settle in for the night – if that was, in fact, what they had intended to do.

Still, they didn't have much choice as far as he could see. Sticking around for another round of questioning in the morning seemed like the worst of their limited options. And while Sara might be formidable one-on-one with her baton, she didn't have that weapon now… and it was of little use against guns.

Sara lifted her head from Neal's shoulder and got to her feet. In the dim illumination from the running lights, he could see her face, and she looked frightened, but resolved.

He figured his own expression probably showed much the same.

Neal slid the window open just far enough to look out; Satisfied that there was no one in the immediate vicinity, he shoved the pane all the way to one side. "All right, you go first," he said, pulling the chair up close. "I'll hand the vests out to you. Then step toward the front of the boat far enough so that I can get out. There's just a narrow ledge here, but it's enough."

"Then we head to the back?"

"Right. Hopefully there's a raft in the bin on this side. If not, we'll have to see what that back deck looks like as far as light and guards go."

"And then over the side."

"Well, unless we find a cache of weapons and ammunition, it's our best option."

"I kind of like the idea of being able to storm the bridge."

"Well, let's see what we find."

He held out his hand and Sara took it, using him to balance as she climbed onto the chair. And then she put one leg out the window and pulled herself through. Neal handed out the vests and followed.

Once outside, it became apparent that the yacht was moving faster than it had seemed from their position inside, and water was being sprayed up. That made the footing on the narrow ledge even more treacherous than he had guessed. But by moving carefully, slowly, and holding onto the rope guide along the edge, they managed to make their way toward the back deck.

Neal stopped at the corner, holding out a hand as a silent signal to Sara to wait. Then he crouched down and slid around the corner. Fortunately, the outside lights had been turned off, though there was still a soft glow from inside the parlor where they had been questioned earlier. There were lights on the upper deck too, but most of their level was in shadow.

Forcing himself to stay still in the shadows, he took a deep breath, held it, and then focused all of his senses on the deck. But he didn't see any movement, or hear any sound of life. He shifted the life vest to his leading hand, and reached back for Sara with the other. When he felt her hand in his, he moved forward, still crouching low, keeping to those shadows as much as possible.

They stopped behind the emergency raft bin. He had to go mostly by feel, because no light reached behind there, but his fingers found just a regular latch, with a simple hasp that twisted to open. At first he lifted the lid just enough to put a hand in, trying to verify that something was in there. But when his fingers touched vinyl, that meant the lid would have to be opened farther to get the raft out.

Leaving Sara in the deepest shadows behind the bin, Neal moved toward the back, working his way just past the container. There was still no sign of anyone moving around, either on the deck or in the parlor beyond. And although the lights probably meant that there were people up and about on the upper level, none of them seemed to be focused on what might be happening below.

_Well, yeah, because their hostages were securely bound in the cabin. And really, even if they got loose, who would be stupid enough to go into the water with no idea how many miles out to sea they might be…_

His reconnaissance did turn up something else useful too – the yacht had a dive deck on the back. If that gate was something he could get open easily in the dark, that would be the best way to get off of the moving vessel. Simply sliding off the deck into the water would create much less noise than dropping the raft and two bodies over the higher sides of the yacht.

Holding up a hand to tell Sara not to move, Neal made his way to the back end. He reached for the latch on the gate – and it opened right away.

_All right – they needed something to go their way._

He pulled the gate closed again and slid back along the edge of the deck to where Sara was waiting. "That back gate isn't locked," he said. "It leads to a dive deck, which is almost down at water level. That'll be the easiest, and quietest, way to get out of here."

"All right. And the rest of the plan?"

"You take the vests and head to the back. I'll get the raft and follow. When I get there, open the gate and we'll get on the dive deck. Put the vests on, and then slip into the water with the raft."

Sara nodded, and then she leaned forward, her lips finding his. "For luck," she whispered when she finally pulled back. And then she moved off, following the shadows toward the back.

Neal watched her for a moment, and then he reached up, opening the storage bin. He slid the raft out, lowered the lid carefully so it wouldn't make noise, and then started to follow. The raft was heavy, which was probably going to be a good thing out on the open ocean. It did, however, make moving quietly difficult, especially with the various ropes and chains that seemed to protrude frequently from the deck. But he hadn't survived so many _hypothetical _escapes without learning to be careful, and he made it to the back of the yacht without raising any alarm.

Sara had the gate open as soon as he got there, and together they slipped past it. She closed it again, careful not to let the latch create any noise. And then, as planned, they donned the life vests, pulling the straps tight.

Water churned by their feet, driven by the yacht's propellers. That could be dangerous, but it would also help mask any sound they might make.

Neal leaned close to Sara so that he could whisper into her ear. "Make sure to push out away from the boat," he said, pointing at the water.

She nodded, and it was time to go.

Neal slid the raft into the water, following it with one hand firmly gripping a rope on the side. He felt, more than saw, Sara moving right behind him.

And then they were in the water, bobbing in the boat's wake. Pushing the raft ahead of him, Neal stroked to one side, pushing through until he got into the calmer water. He could see Sara making her way toward him, and he held out a hand to her.

They bobbed in the water for a long moment, watching as the running lights of the yacht moved away.

"I don't hear anyone raising an alarm," Sara finally said.

"I'll take that as a very good sign."

"So now we inflate the raft?"

Neal shook his head, though by the pale moonlight, it may have been a wasted gesture. "Some of these rafts are designed with an emergency light that comes on automatically when it's inflated. I don't want to take the chance that this is one of them."

"So we just float for a while, and let the yacht get farther away."

"That's the plan." He pulled her hand up to one of the rope handles. "Just hang onto this. I don't want us to get separated."

He watched as Sara's hand curled around the rope, and even in the dim light he could see her smile. "Oh, you're not getting rid of me that easily, Caffrey."

"Good." He wrapped one hand around a handle himself, and laid the other over Sara's hand.

And they waited.

* * *

><p>He was just contemplating how lucky they were that it was summer, which meant that hypothermia wasn't an immediate concern. The swells weren't bad either, offering just enough up and down to help conceal their position. Clouds had moved in, which mostly obscured the moonlight, giving them additional cover. And then he was wondering if enough time had passed so that they could chance inflating the raft…<p>

Sara's sudden yelp of surprise brought him quickly back to the present. "Sara?"

"Neal, something very large just brushed by my legs."

He took a quick scan of the area. Now the cloud cover didn't seem quite so helpful.

_Was that a dorsal fin just behind Sara?_

"Right. Time to inflate the raft. Push away just a little."

He waited until Sara had backed away and then yanked on the inflation handle, releasing the compressed air stored in the canisters. With a loud hiss, the raft started to grow.

The fin seemed to move closer.

_Sharks didn't usually feed at night – but maybe this one hadn't seen the same Discovery Channel special._

A couple of strong strokes brought him next to Sara, and then he pulled her back using the raft as a barrier between them and the fin. His hand brushed against the survival knife tethered to the side and he let go of Sara's hand to release it from the sheath.

_And now if he could just get the theme song from 'Jaws' out of his head…_

He tried to get the dismal image of attempting to fend off a shark with a knife, and in the dark no less, out of his head too.

The raft had inflated and Sara had already found the rope rungs that hung down to enable boarding. He watched as she clambered into the raft, pushing aside the partially raised canopy. The fin had disappeared, and he tried not to imagine a sleek torpedo of a fish shooting up from underneath him…

_Definitely too many viewings of 'Air Jaws' during Shark Week._

Tossing the knife into the bottom of the raft, Neal grabbed onto the ropes and pulled himself inside, falling with an extremely ungraceful flop next to Sara.

For a long moment they simply lay there, too exhausted to do anything else. But then Sara rolled toward him, hand on his chest. "Was that really a fucking shark?"

"Might have been."

"Might?"

He managed a weak grin. "I'm not going back in the water to find out."

He could hear the smile in Sara's voice, even if he couldn't see it on her face. "I guess that's fair enough."

They finally untangled, pushing up to a seated position. They managed to get the canopy locked into place, and then Neal pulled out the emergency supply kit. With the top raised he couldn't see much, but his fingers found a flashlight and he clicked it on. Laying the other items out between them, he found another waterproof flashlight, tightly wrapped spare batteries, a first aid kit, binoculars, duct tape, a repair kit, two sets of fishing gear, a couple of metal cups, a desalinization kit, another knife, two silvery space blankets, four hand flares, an emergency beacon, and some seasickness bags.

_Those might come in handy._

The emergency kit was seated on top of two sets of paddles, should they decide to try rowing. Through the vinyl of the canopy he could see a strobe light flashing, and he gave some thought to trying to disable it. The light could draw their kidnappers to them, when the escape was detected. But the light might also be their only chance of rescue.

Because what he also discovered, though he didn't share the news with Sara, was that this raft was intended for use in coastal waters, where help wouldn't be far off. It wasn't designed for the open ocean, where they could only guess how many miles out they were.

But it was all they had, and it gave them a chance.

* * *

><p>There was a good deal of commotion on the yacht in the wee hours of the morning. The prisoners had escaped, apparently overboard in the missing life raft. After a good deal of yelling and finger-pointing, the craft reversed its course, with one man stationed up front on the running bridge, a powerful searchlight in hand. Someone else was tasked with watching the recreational-grade radar. And the captain carefully retraced the yacht's course, heading west.<p>

But the currents in the Atlantic don't run east and west. The Gulf Stream drives the current in a curving northeasterly pattern. The raft the men on the yacht were seeking was already well north of the original path.


	6. Before the Storm

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

Neal shook his head, his chin brushing against Sara's hair as she lay against his chest. "There's too much cloud cover. I can't see the stars."

"So you can navigate by the stars?"

"Well, it's probably not my best skill, but I have some experience."

"Oh, do tell."

"Would you believe I crewed for a competition yacht in the America's Cup one time?"

She pushed herself up, looking down at him. "Seriously?"

"Yup."

"What was the con?"

He laughed lightly and pulled her back down next to him. "No actual con with the crewing. Well, I may have… _embellished_ my boating résumé a bit to get on board."

"Embellished, right."

"Fortunately, I'm a fast learner."

"So you just wanted to go sailing?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. And… there may have been some parties that offered tempting targets. Being a crew member got me into everything with no problem."

"Well, I feel better knowing that I'm stranded at sea with a pro."

"Now if we just had some sails, there might be something I could do."

"You can't rig something with, oh, I don't know, maybe our shirts?"

"Maybe. It's something to look at in the morning, when we can really see what's going on."

There was silence for a few minutes before Sara spoke up again. "Do you think they've discovered we're gone by now?"

"Well, if not, they will soon enough."

"And they'll head back this way."

"Probably." He felt her tense against his arm, and he tightened his hold around her shoulders. "Obviously, we're not going to out-run a motorized yacht. But I guess it really depends on how experienced the captain is. If he mostly just works the coastal waters, he may not factor in the currents."

"So which way are we heading?"

"Well, how do you feel about Nova Scotia?"

"I don't have my passport."

"Probably the least of our problems."

"True." She sighed and snugged in closer to his side. "Do you think Peter has found the card in your phone?"

"I hope so. I'm not sure it'll help them find us, but someone needs to look into what's going on."

"Neal, I'm sorry. I should have gone directly to Peter with this in the first place. It's just… well, it did start while we were together, and I wanted you to know."

"It's all right, Sara."

"Sure, because you planned to be floating in the middle of the ocean anyway, right?"

He gave that a soft laugh, and reached up with his free hand to brush her back. "Truth is, I was really happy when you called."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I really wanted a chance to talk to you, but I wasn't sure you'd take my call."

"Neal…"

"No, Sara, I know I screwed up – in a lot of ways. And I am so sorry it wound up hurting you. I hope you know I never intended that."

"I do know that, Neal. And I miss you, I really do. I just… I'm not sure if I can do it again."

"Well, that probably won't even be a possibility."

"What happened to the Mr. 'anything is possible' I knew?"

He sighed, buying a moment to choose his words. "I guess he wanted to say goodbye."

"What?" When Neal didn't answer right away, she propped herself up, looking down at him. "What do you mean?"

"I have a hearing next Tuesday."

"A hearing – about the treasure?"

"I imagine that could be part of it, although Keller did confess. It's about my whole situation. They _could_ commute my sentence. But, given everything, I figure there's a really good chance that I'll be back in prison by Tuesday night."

"Oh, Neal…"

He reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips. "Whatever happens, I'm glad you were in my life, Sara Ellis."

"We were good together, in so many ways."

"Yeah. I just wish I hadn't been such an idiot."

"Neal, the treasure… it was part of who you are. What could you have done?"

"Was – part of who I _was._" He kissed her hand again and then sighed. "I do want you to know this. Before… before Elizabeth Burke was kidnapped, I had decided I didn't want to run. I told Mozzie I wasn't going with him."

"You turned your back on that treasure?"

"I did. I just realized too late that what I really wanted was what I already have." He paused, drawing in a deep breath. "_Had_," he amended softly.

Sara was quiet for a moment, considering that. "Can I testify?" she finally asked.

"What?"

"At the hearing. Can I testify?"

"I don't really know. They haven't clarified the ground rules."

"I wouldn't tell them about the Raphael you stole."

"Allegedly!"

"Right."

"Let's just worry about getting back to dry land," he suggested. "That's all that really matters for now."

* * *

><p>They drifted on, borne by the currents. Curled up together under one of the survival blankets, the rocking eventually lulled Sara to sleep. Neal could feel when she drifted off, as her body relaxed, and her breathing evened out.<p>

Sleep didn't find him, however. He lay awake, trying to visualize maritime charts in his head. This would be a good time to have Mozzie's total recall. It would be even more helpful if they were in the southern Pacific, where most of his sailing experience had taken place.

He hadn't wanted to slam Sara's idea of rigging a sail of some sort, but it really wouldn't be easy with their limited supplies. One thing he _had_ learned was that sails had particular shapes and sizes for a reason. That didn't mean they couldn't _try_ something in the morning, of course. Anything they could do to move in a more westerly direction would be good.

Because really, they were only headed toward Nova Scotia in the most general sense. Relying only on the current, they'd be swung east of Canada by quite a distance – straight out into the north Atlantic.

Neal sighed and shifted slightly, settling Sara more comfortably on his arm. Maybe he should try thinking about what he knew of shipping lanes…

* * *

><p>After tossing and turning all night, with little sleep to show for it, Peter finally gave up shortly before dawn. Moving carefully, he slid out of bed, rearranging the covers over Elizabeth's still-sleeping form.<p>

A quick stop in the bathroom, an even quicker stop back in the bedroom to grab his cell phone from the charger, and he was on his way downstairs. He got the coffee started and then fired up the electronics. No new voicemails, just a text message confirming that his automatic payment had been received for the newspaper subscription.

His work e-mail had a couple of promising messages. The overnight tech crew had unlocked Neal's phone – at least part of it. The recent call and message history would be waiting when he got to the office, but the contact list was proving to be a tougher nut to crack.

Given the penchant for secrecy in Neal's – Current? Former? – world, the contact list probably wasn't going to do anyone much good. If Neal really had planned this as an escape, the numbers would most likely already be out of date.

Peter replied to the e-mail, asking the tech department to just have the unlocked phone and the list of calls available for him when he got there.

Another message from the overnight coverage agent said that Sara's purse had been found in a dumpster behind a BBQ joint in Harlem. The police had been called, and a routine records check on her name had turned up the FBI alert. The purse, and its contents, was waiting in Peter's office.

Peter poured a cup of coffee, leaving it on the counter to cool. He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, peeling it as he started for the stairs. He'd get dressed, have his coffee, and then head for the office.

Maybe things would make more sense today.

* * *

><p>Sara shifted a bit, not waking up but rolling farther to one side. By working carefully, Neal was able to pull his arm free, leaving her still slumbering.<p>

He rolled to his knees, shaking his right arm to try and get some feeling back in it. Using his left hand he opened the flap on the raft's canopy. Fortunately, his worst-case scenario – that the mystery yacht would be bearing down on them – didn't appear to be true.

No dorsal fin circling them either.

He opened the emergency kit and pulled out the desalinization kit. It wasn't too different from what he'd been introduced to before. He filled the collection bag with water, added the contents of one of the syrup tubes, mixed well as instructed, and set it aside. In a few hours they'd have drinkable water, with the survival benefit of added sugar and electrolytes.

Thinking about having something to drink made his bladder remind him of something else. And unfortunately, survival rafts didn't come with restroom facilities.

They'd already shed shoes before settling down for the remainder of the night, so now he stripped everything else off. It wasn't as if he and Sara had any physical secrets left, and he didn't want the unpleasant experience of sitting around again in wet clothing.

One more quick check for dorsal fins, and then he slid into the water.

After a cramped night in the raft, the cool water felt good. He took a few strokes away from the little craft, relieved himself, and then swam around the outside, checking for any signs of damage. Fortunately, he didn't find any.

By the time he got back to the ladder, Sara was awake and leaning on the edge of the raft, looking down at him. "Out for a little morning exercise?"

Neal smiled up at her and then gestured out at the open ocean. "Your restroom and shower facilities, m'lady."

"Spacious," Sara conceded. "But I have to say, I think I prefer the layout at the Four Seasons."

"True. No heated towels here, no little bottles of over-hyped shampoo."

"Still, it does have some advantages over our accommodations from last evening."

"I find the 'no guns' policy especially attractive."

Sara nodded, absently brushing her hand over a huge bruise on her jaw. "And no hitting."

Neal pulled himself up on the edge of the raft, using one hand to steady himself. He wrapped the other hand behind her head, pulling her close. "Definitely no hitting," he whispered, brushing a soft kiss along her jaw.

She rested her forehead against his for a moment, and then sat back. "So, how's the water?"

"Refreshing. Come on in."

"Be there in a minute," she replied, her fingers working the buttons on her shirt…


	7. Bits and Pieces

"All right, let's go through it one more time."

Peter knew the words sounded trite – but to their credit, the agents gathered around the conference room table managed not to roll their eyes. Moving over to the whiteboard, he pointed at the timeline that had been laid out.

Jones was closest, so he started. "We know when Neal asked to leave early for lunch. And according to the incoming call history on his phone, he did talk to Sara Ellis just before that."

"Sara wasn't in the office in the morning, but there's nothing unusual about that. Her work frequently keeps her out in the field."

Peter considered that for a moment, studying the speaker, Paul Rollins. He was another investigator at Sterling Bosch, and had been sent over to keep an eye on the confidential files the company had delivered. "So she doesn't necessarily tell anyone where she'll be, or exactly what she's working on?"

Rollins had a skeptical look on his face as he answered. "How long did you say you've known Sara, Agent Burke?"

Peter sighed, leaning against the back of the nearest chair. "Long enough to know that that was a desperate question."

"She gets results, and that's what the company looks for," Rollins said. "No one has made Sara punch a time clock for quite a while."

"All right, and we'll come back to her cases." Peter pointed back at the board. "We know they were at lunch at Chantilly."

Diana pulled out her notes. "The staff said Neal arrived first, by maybe ten minutes. He ordered a bottle of wine, which was delivered before Sara arrived. No one on the staff noticed her when she actually got there, and we're still trying to track down some of the early customers. But everyone we've talked to who did see them together said they seemed fine. No raised voices, nothing obviously wrong."

Agent Westley picked up the narrative from his own notes. "The server said they both ordered the chicken salad. Neal paid the bill when they left, complete with a nice tip."

"And then they were on foot." Jones traced a route on the map posted next to the board. "Not a straight path at all."

"Almost like they were trying to evade something, or someone," Diana suggested.

"And we're sure they were still together?" Peter asked, studying the map.

Westley spoke up first. "We know they left together. The busboy saw them go around the corner."

Diana got to her feet and pointed at a spot about two blocks away. "A dog walker _thinks_ she saw them about here."

Jones picked up the narrative again. "NYPD had a disturbance call about a block away. No details, and the responding officers didn't find anything when they got there." He leaned in, pointing to a spot on the map. "We found Neal's phone here."

"We checked the traffic cameras from the major streets for an hour after the time of that disturbance call," Blake offered. "We didn't see either Neal or Ms. Ellis come out of those side streets on foot. And there were only two cabs that we observed during that time. Neither driver recognized the photos."

"So either they're still in that side area, which we've found no evidence of," Diana said. "Or they left in a different vehicle."

"Tech has all of the video," Jones said. "So far, no facial recognition on anyone we can see. They're trying to clean up some of the footage, and we've got clerks running down any license plates we can read."

Peter pointed at a spot well to the north. "And somehow, Neal's tracking anklet wound up here."

"That's the last time stamp we have," Diana admitted. "We know when the tracker was disabled for a few seconds, apparently without tampering."

"And then left in the park." Peter slapped at the map in frustration. "What about traffic cameras in the area?"

"NYPD has promised we'll have the footage this morning," Blake replied. "We'll try to match up any vehicles at both places."

"High traffic areas though, especially since we have nothing to narrow down the search," Jones warned.

"And no one has seen either of them since?" Peter asked.

"Sara missed a meeting yesterday at two o'clock," Rollins said. "She's the one who scheduled it, and it was quite important. It's not like her at all, and no one has been able to reach her at home or on her cell since."

"I talked to June this morning," Diana added. "She had coffee with Neal yesterday morning, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But she hasn't seen or heard from him since."

Peter stood back and sighed, planting his hands on his hips as he stared at the board. "What are we missing?"

* * *

><p>They had opted for partially-dressed as the attire for the day, underwear and shirt. Everything else seemed wholly unnecessary, under the circumstances.<p>

They'd tried making a sail earlier, after the early-morning swim. Copious amounts of duct tape binding oars together, one of the survival blankets raised to the breeze. And Neal figured there was an outside chance that they'd made some slight headway westward before the experiment had ended. But as the sky darkened with dangerous looking clouds, and the wind picked up, it had soon taken both of them to even hold the contraption upright. Without a rudder, there was no steering as they were whipped across the waves.

In the end, they had dismantled the 'sail,' raised the canopy, and settled in for the ride.

They'd also been using the binoculars to scan the ocean periodically for any sign of a vessel, but so far to no avail.

At least they had lunch – sort of.

Sara picked up a handful of the seaweed, staring at it with open distrust. "Neal, you're sure?"

"I'm sure it's edible." _Even if he wasn't sure it __looked__ edible._ "I don't guarantee anything on taste." He pulled a strand loose, gamely popped it in his mouth, chewed…

It took all his self-control not to spit it right back out.

Somehow, he managed to swallow. "Delicious."

Sara still looked – rightfully – skeptical. "Sure."

"Well, nutritious anyway." He took another small strand, popped it in his mouth, and swallowed it right down. "There. Better without chewing. And it'll help keep your strength up."

"I'll never look at sushi rolls the same," Sara said, as she gamely swallowed some of the seaweed.

Assuming they made it through the storm that seemed to be approaching, they might be looking at trying the fishing gear – and raw fish – before long. But it might be better not to talk about that just yet. Instead, he picked up the bag of water. "Just remember, we have a lovely vintage to wash it down with."

Sara looked even more dubious about that as she swallowed more of the seaweed.

They spent a few minutes eating – swallowing – in silence; it wasn't exactly a romantic meal to linger over. And they both managed to swallow some of the syrupy liquid.

Neal finally stowed the water bag away again. No matter how horrible it tasted, they needed the water to survive. Then he opened the entry hatch on the canopy to look out.

A moment later, Sara was behind him, leaning over his shoulder. "How bad do you think it'll get?"

He studied the massive build-up of dark clouds that seemed to literally be rolling toward them. "Probably pretty rough."

"But these rafts are designed to handle that, right?"

"Yeah. To a certain point anyway." _Time to come clean._ "This one is more designed for use closer in-shore."

"Which we're not."

"No."

"So what do you think?"

"I think we don't have a lot of choices."

He hooked the flap halfway open so they could keep an eye on the weather and then settled back against the side of the raft. Holding his arm out, he waited until Sara had curled in next to him, and then held her close. "We'll make it, Repo."

"Is that just a line, Con Man?"

"Nope. You're way too tough to get taken out by some little storm."

"And what about you?"

He turned toward her and grinned. "I'm with you. What could go wrong?"

"Oh, so I'm a good luck charm?"

"Well, better you than me. I don't seem to be doing very well at that recently." His smile disappeared. "Maybe you should be worried."

"Neal…"

"I've managed to hurt a lot of people I cared about, Sara."

"Well, this time you got caught up in my mess."

"And you were caught in mine before."

She was silent for a long moment, and then her hand came to rest on his chest. "I think I made yours worse."

"What do you mean?"

"You know when Keller approached me, and said he was Interpol?"

"Yeah. I'm just glad he didn't hurt you."

"No, he didn't hurt me. But he scared me."

"Keller has a way of doing that."

"But Neal, I panicked."

He shifted slightly so he could look at her. "What happened?"

"He was asking me about you and the treasure. And then he was threatening me, saying that he knew I was under investigation at Sterling Bosch."

"Sara…"

"No, Neal, listen! He showed me a photo. It was from a surveillance camera, when we were buying those helicopters."

"Right, the bank case."

"Yes, but Keller implied we were spending money from the Nazi treasure. And he'd been pushing me so hard…" She sat up, looking away. "That's when I gave him the treasure cam web address."

"He wasn't going to leave with nothing, Sara."

"But don't you see? I should have laughed in his face and told him that photo had nothing to do with the treasure!"

Neal sat up, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Sara, believe me, people don't tend to get away with laughing in Matthew Keller's face."

"But I let him see the treasure," she whispered. "Without that, maybe…"

"Without that, he would have found another way."

"Neal…"

"Sara, look at me." He waited until she complied. "This has been a giant mess from the very beginning."

"I didn't help."

"Well, whatever small role you may have played, I think it was always destined to end badly."

"Like with you back in prison."

He shrugged, nodded. "Maybe."

"But you didn't steal it."

"No, but I didn't say anything when I found out where the treasure was. I helped hide it, and impeded a federal investigation."

"Without me though, he might not have had enough reason to go after Elizabeth Burke," Sara insisted.

Neal sighed and leaned back again, pulling Sara with him. "Let me tell you a little about Matthew Keller." He paused, eyes closed, thinking back. "I was twenty – so sure of myself, enjoying every challenge, and absolutely sure no one could catch me. I remember I was living in Paris at the time, and some… _acquaintances_ asked me to go to Monaco with them."

"I've always heard it's nice."

"It is. Right on the Mediterranean, with all the culture that goes with that. I love Monte Carlo – always hoped I could go back someday. But at the time, there was a big international backgammon tournament going on."

"Backgammon?"

"I didn't even know what the game was back then," Neal admitted. "But lots of rich people were going to be there, and there would be parties. Opportunities galore, as I saw it then. And it was true. I was working one of the parties – lifting an occasional wallet or some jewelry, schmoozing, making new friends."

"Rich _female_ friends, I'd bet."

Neal laughed a little at that. "Mostly, yes. I didn't spend any nights alone."

"Ah, the life of an international thief and playboy."

"Remember, I was twenty. Anyway, Keller was doing the same thing. We kind of recognized each other that way. We got to talking, we each had some ideas that would go better with another person…"

"So you became partners?"

"In a way, I guess. It was more about convenience than anything else. We did pretty well in Monaco, and we worked together a few more times. He… he used to be different. I mean, I pulled his ass out of the fire a few times, but he helped me out a couple of times too."

"So what happened?"

"I wish I knew. I hadn't seen him for a couple of years, and then I ran into him working the film festival in Cannes. And he was just… different. Colder, angrier. We didn't really talk that first night, but I saw him again the next night, and that time he followed me back to the bar. We had a drink, talked – he was planning a three-person job, and was looking for the third. It seemed pretty straight forward, and a good payday, so I signed on."

"But it didn't go well?" Sara guessed.

"Actually, the job went about as smooth as any I've ever been on. But when we were leaving, the other guy, Thierry, said he thought he might have left his passport behind. He was still checking his pockets when Keller shot him."

"Just _shot_ him?"

"Cool as could be. There was nothing I could do, it happened too fast. And to top it all off, Thierry's passport was in his back pocket all along."

"So what happened? Did the police suspect Keller?"

"No, they had no idea who Keller was. And it's not like I could tell them. I mean, they might have accepted an anonymous tip for the stolen goods, but not for a murder charge."

"And you couldn't go to them directly without implicating yourself."

"Right. And once Keller implicated me in the theft…"

"You'd be considered as guilty in the murder as Keller."

Neal nodded. "I swear to you, Sara, I didn't even know he had a gun. It wasn't part of the plan. And it wasn't part of who he was before." He sighed, running a hand through his salt-crusted hair. "We were supposed to meet up the next night to discuss another job, but I didn't stick around. I cleared out of my hotel room, spent the night with a friend, and then took the first international flight out the next morning. I wound up in Brussels."

"And Keller?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him again for a couple of years. Our paths crossed a few times, but I never worked with him again."

"And he knew that you couldn't turn him in for the murder without risking prison."

"Exactly. Then Keller surfaced in New York a couple of years back. He hired a small-time thief to pull a museum heist for him. Once he got what he wanted, he ran the guy down with a car."

Sara didn't say anything, but he felt her grip on his arm tighten.

"We arrested him, and he plea-bargained for a twenty year sentence. But maybe you heard about Peter being kidnapped?"

"I heard a little. That was Keller?"

"He planned it all – as part of a grand plan to escape. It worked, and he disappeared. There was no word on him anywhere until a few months ago when he turned up in Egypt, and then here in New York."

"I guess I know that part of the story."

"Enough, anyway."

"Wow."

"That pretty much sums it up. And then Keller showed up again, taking Elizabeth."

"Feel like you're tilting at windmills?"

"Sometimes, yeah. But we got Elizabeth back, she's safe. That's the most important thing."

"Do you think he'll come after you again?"

"With Keller, who knows, even from a cell. But if I go back to prison, I guess I'm safe from Keller, at least. He'll consider that a victory. And hopefully then he won't have reason to go after people I know either."

"But now I've dragged you into the Donnelly mess."

"Out of the frying pan…"

"Into the fire."

He pulled her in closer. "Peter will figure it out, Sara. I know he will."


	8. Stormy

"That's it," Jones admitted, tossing the last folder down on the table. "Only two suspects where the prosecution of the cases really relies on what Neal got undercover. Both suspects are involved in negotiations for plea bargains, so they're not fighting anything. All the other cases, Neal got us good information, but it led to so much other evidence that that they're pretty much open and shut."

"But if someone challenges the sting, they could get the other evidence thrown out," Peter mused.

Jones nodded. "True. We've got no one who's filed a challenge yet, but I sent the names over to the US Attorney's office. They're checking the files to see if there's anything new."

"It just doesn't make sense," Diana said. "Neal doesn't testify, so even without him, we still have the recordings. And we're the ones who would be questioned about how the operation was set up."

"I know." Peter sighed, staring out the window. "And that's the last six months, right Jones?"

"I went back eight months, just to be sure," Jones replied.

"Any threats…"

"Nothing." Jones got to his feet, adding his own sigh. "Peter, we have lots of unhappy people. But not a single specific threat against Neal."

Peter nodded and turned back to the table. "What about Sara's cases?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Rollins reported. "We're required to report any threats, and Sara hasn't filed anything." He closed the file in front of him and looked up at Peter. "Agent Burke, you have to understand. If there was evidence that could be taken to the FBI or the police, we wouldn't be going in to recover our clients' property. The people we recover property from can't very well go to the police, since they stole the items in the first place. And even if they knew that Sterling Bosch performed the recovery, the company wouldn't release the investigator's name."

"Maybe they caught Ms. Ellis on surveillance," Blake suggested.

"Unlikely," Rollins argued. "Sara is very good at what she does."

"We've got Westley running the names on her recent cases, just to see if there are any outstanding warrants or open cases against any of them," Diana added.

"No matches on the traffic search?" Peter asked.

"I.T. is running the recordings now," Diana confirmed. She checked the display on her phone. "Nothing yet."

"Neal's phone has all of my messages, unheard," Peter said. He picked up the evidence bag with the phone, and the corresponding report, before sliding them back onto the table. Jones caught them just before they went off the edge. "Sara's phone?"

Jones referred to the report in his e-mail. "The call to Neal. Several calls from her office trying to locate her. We're waiting on a warrant to get the records from her home number."

Peter sank back into his chair. "So we still have nothing. We don't know if they were taken separately or together. We don't know if it's over something from Sara's cases, or Neal's past. For that matter, we don't even know that they were _taken._ Maybe Neal just decided to cut and run, and talked Sara into going with him."

No one at the table really had anything to add to that, so Peter finally got back to his feet, heading for the door. "All right, I need to brief Hughes on everything we _don't_ have. Keep working."

* * *

><p>When the storm finally hit with its full fury, it did so with an intensity that neither of them could have imagined.<p>

Fortunately, they'd had warning that it was coming. All of their precious survival supplies were fastened down, either with the straps attached to the raft for just that purpose, or with duct tape – or both.

As the swells grew, starting them on a ride that might have made even the most avid roller coaster enthusiast pale, they donned all of their clothing again and strapped on the life vests.

Previously, Neal had thought that the first few nights in prison had to be the most terrifying time in his life. But as the rain pelted down on them, and the wind whipped the tiny raft mercilessly, and the waves grew to resemble mountains, he knew he had a new understanding of what terror was.

They couldn't even talk to comfort each other. The noise of the wind and the crashing waves meant that any communication required yelling, and even then, in the cramped quarters, they couldn't hear each other.

Mostly, they just held on, to the raft, and to each other.

* * *

><p>Peter looked up as a shadow appeared at his door. Jones and Diana stood there, waiting anxiously. "El, I have to go. I'll call you later. Bye, hon." He hung up the phone and motioned for the agents to come in. "Tell me."<p>

"We might have found something to explain what happened to Neal and Sara," Diana started.

Jones set his open laptop on Peter's desk, turning the screen toward the senior agent. "I was looking at Neal's phone. There was a micro-SD card in there. Take a look."

Peter did, skimming through several pages of the file before looking up. "This isn't something we were working on."

Diana laid a file on his desk. "No, it doesn't tie in to our cases. But when we looked through the files Rollins brought again, we found this."

"Recovery of a Crosse miniature." Peter flipped through a couple more pages. "Something Sara did, I assume."

"Yeah. The miniature was insured by Sterling Bosch. They had a pretty good idea who took it, and who had it, part of a business dispute, but no proof," Diana replied.

"How do we get from this to Neal and Sara going missing?" Peter asked.

Jones reached over and flipped the file back to the first page. "Barry Koontz. He's the one Sara went after for the recovery."

Peter closed his eyes, trying to remember something. "That name is familiar, but I can't think of a case."

"He's never been one of _our_ cases," Diana said. "Koontz was a civilian employee working for the police department – specifically, for the office of the deputy commissioner."

"And he just died a few weeks ago," Peter added as the news article came back to him. "Not natural causes?"

"Hard to say, the files have been sealed. And given this," Diana said, pointing at the laptop. "Well, I'm not sure I can go through regular channels. The coroner is at some function in Albany tonight, but I have an appointment first thing in the morning to talk in person."

"There's something else too." Jones pulled the laptop closer, switched to a different display, and turned it back toward Peter. "I ran a check on Koontz's name and this came up on one of the secure inter-agency sites."

"Koontz was called to testify in a grand jury hearing." Peter sighed and looked up again. "I'm sure those files are sealed too."

Jones nodded. "They are. And, like Diana said, with Donnelly involved, we can't go through our regular channels. But I went to law school with one of the prosecutors, and she's meeting me for coffee in the morning, away from her office."

Peter leaned back in his chair. "So, what do we have? You're thinking that Koontz found out about Donnelly's little side activities, got the evidence, hid it behind a stolen miniature, and Sara just happened to get it along with the recovered art."

"It makes more sense than anything else we've been able to find," Diana said.

"What about the original owner, the Sterling Bosch client?" Peter asked.

Diana pointed at the file on Peter's desk. "According to that, her name is Marjory Holmes. American, works in sales for a tech company. She's been living in Geneva for the last seven months for work. Rollins went back to his office to see if there was more useful information in the client file, but our search shows no indication that she had any involvement with NYPD."

"He did say that Sara had had their cryptanalyst working on something recently," Jones added. "But there's no record anywhere on what it was, just that it turned out not to be related to the insured item. Makes sense though, that Koontz might have encrypted his files with something this sensitive."

Peter nodded, a million questions vying for his attention. "So, Sara got the unencrypted file, realized it was something big, and she called Neal – why not just come here?"

"We'd just be guessing," Diana pointed out. "But maybe it was an excuse to see him?"

"Maybe," Peter conceded. "But if this was in Neal's phone, he must have seen what it was. Why didn't he call me?"

"I think he started to, Peter." Jones reached into his pocket and pulled Neal's phone out. "Call history had all of the unheard messages you left him, but if you look at the outgoing call record, he dialed your number, just a couple of minutes before that disturbance call to emergency services."

"I never got a call," Peter said.

Jones pulled up the record and held the screen up. "It was only thirteen seconds. Sometimes there's a delay. Probably never connected on your end."

Peter sighed and got up, turning toward the window. The sky had darkened with storm clouds, and the first drops of rain were splattering against the window. "So this really might have nothing to do with Neal at all."

He didn't see the look his junior agents exchanged behind his back before Diana answered. "Except for probably being with the wrong person at the wrong time in the wrong place."

* * *

><p>The good news was that the tiny raft bobbed like a cork, somehow staying afloat in the fury of the storm.<p>

The bad news was that the tiny raft bobbed like a cork, rolling over every peak and valley the ocean threw at it.

At one point, the entrance flap was ripped open, and the water poured in. In the midst of the tempest, there was no way to try and fix it. Sara and Neal used the metal cups to frantically bail as the ocean threatened to swamp their world.

Once, when Sara was leaning over to dump some water out, the storm tipped them up on the rise of a huge wave. She was flung downward, directly toward the open flap, and Neal only _just_ managed to grab the back of her vest in time.

The storm raged on.

* * *

><p>"So you have no idea where they might be?"<p>

Peter shook his head in frustration. "None. It _might_ be related to one of Sara's recovery cases, but it's all just a theory at this point. We don't have any real proof of anything."

Elizabeth shifted up onto her elbow, looking down at her husband. "What happens next?"

"Jones and Diana are following up on a couple of things in the morning, so maybe we'll get something useful. Hughes is bringing in Missing Persons tomorrow afternoon if we haven't found anything. And the marshals are still involved in the search. We've got notices out at all of the airports. Train stations too, but they're a lot harder to monitor."

She sighed and settled back down on the bed, curling into his side. "I hope you find something soon."

Peter wrapped his arm around her and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Me too, El. Me too."

It wasn't long before Elizabeth's breathing evened out and she fell asleep.

It was a _very_ long time before sleep found Peter that night.


	9. Alive

Morning came, and the worst of the storm had passed.

They were alive.

At least, Neal thought they were. They'd bumped and fallen against each other so many times that he figured his previous bruises, courtesy of Donnelly's men, probably had bruises of their own. But being dead couldn't possibly be this painful, so yeah, he was probably alive.

He looked over to where Sara was curled up, holding tight to a strap on the side of the raft. She'd suffered her own bruises at the hands of their captors, but the shiner around her left eye was new…

Courtesy of his elbow.

He shifted toward her, brushing lightly over the bruise. "Hey, it's morning," he said, pointing at the weak sunlight filtering in.

She turned slightly toward him, a wan smile on her face. "We made it?"

"Made it through the night anyway. How bad's the eye?"

She reached up, taking his fingers in hers. "Not that bad."

"I am so sorry."

"Hey, compared to getting tossed out into that ocean, I'm not complaining."

Neal pulled back and got to his knees, reaching across to the opening. When he came back, he had a chunk of seaweed in his hand. "Looks like we got room service."

Sara wrinkled her nose as she sat up. "I distinctly recall ordering eggs benedict."

"We'll file a complaint with management later."

She pushed against the side of the raft as she sat up, and frowned. "Are we losing air?"

"I think we might have a small leak. Hopefully these swells will go down a little, and then I'll try to find it."

* * *

><p>Peter stared at the reports in front of him, trying to see how all of the pieces could come together.<p>

Diana had managed to get a copy of the autopsy report on Barry Koontz. The official cause of death was an overdose of a heavy duty barbiturate. But other clues – like the ligature marks on the man's wrists and ankles – led the coroner to classify the death as a homicide.

_Like maybe someone had been trying to get information from him…_

A special investigator from the Department of Justice had been appointed to look into Koontz's death; given his connection to the police department inquiry, the case was not given to the NYPD. Peter had asked Hughes to file an official request for the file.

Jones had had some luck with his breakfast coffee date. The prosecutor had confirmed, off the record, that Koontz was providing testimony against Donnelly. The records were sealed, and Peter had no illusion that their request for a copy would come through quickly. The legal department had requested an expedited hearing, but there was no word yet.

Fortunately, the old law school friend had been a very _close_ friend – who happened to have some personal notes not covered by the seal order. She'd be e-mailing them to Jones this morning.

They still had no real _proof_ of anything, but there were too many clues to ignore. Peter re-tasked some agents to review the traffic footage again, looking for vehicles with police license plates. If this really was connected to the investigation into Donnelly, chances were he used some of his friends from the police force to do the dirty work. And he had quite a network, according to the files they had from Neal's phone.

It was hard to follow some of their leads, just because they didn't know who within the police force could be approached. But one person Peter did trust was Dave Shattuck, a friend of many years. Dave had agreed to come to the federal building, and was due any time now. Peter intended to lay everything out for his friend, and see if he had any suggestions.

Peter sighed, gathered a few notes, and got to his feet. He probably had time to brief Hughes before Shattuck got there. The senior agent was still considering bringing in Missing Persons, now that they were approaching the forty-eight hour mark of having no contact with Neal or Sara. The extra personnel might be helpful…

As long as Hughes didn't try to put the other division in charge.

* * *

><p>By late morning, most of the clouds had gone away, the wind had died down, and the ocean surface retreated to gentle swells, instead of mountains of water. They were able to find the small leak in the raft and repair it.<p>

Sara just sat back and enjoyed the view as Neal used the hand pump from the repair kit to replace the lost air. Shirtless, his muscles rippled with each movement.

When he caught her looking at him, she just smiled.

They replenished their drinkable water, trying not to think about how few syrupy desalinization packets were left. Of course, if another storm like the previous night's hit, the odds weren't good that their little raft would survive anyway.

They studiously avoided talking about the possible fate of dying at sea, never to be found.

With the sun out again, they put the canopy down for a while to let everything inside dry out. It also gave them an unobstructed view of the seemingly endless ocean as they scanned with the binoculars.

And they watched as something with an extremely large dorsal fin circled them…

* * *

><p>The search of the traffic tapes found three vehicles with police plates around the Chantilly café on Monday around noon. The footage from near the park in Harlem, around the time that Neal's anklet showed him arriving there, showed five vehicles.<p>

Cross-referencing led them to two vehicles – a cargo van and a SUV.

Both vehicles were assigned to One Police Plaza as a home base. That was both good and bad, Peter decided. It was good, because it was more circumstantial evidence that the Donnelly files were the reason that a certain FBI consultant and an insurance investigator were missing. But it was bad because one couldn't just march into police headquarters and demand to see the vehicle logs to find out who might have signed the van and the SUV out. Dave Shattuck was trying to work some quiet side angles to get the information, but they had nothing yet.

Shattuck had, however, been able to access a database that listed the GPS identification numbers for all of the department's vehicles. The data they sent was encrypted, readable only by a police application, but Jones and the tech team were sure they could crack that. They were working on it now.

Jones' prosecutor friend had come through with the notes she promised. There were a lot of names from the testimony Koontz had given. Blake and Westley were running background checks on everyone on the list, plus some other names Shattuck had provided to try and hide the real targets of the investigation. Franklin was digging into the financials to see who might be living above a patrol officer or detective salary.

Diana was briefing in the team from Missing Persons. Neal would probably appreciate the irony that it was Kimberly Rice who was heading the group. That was, if they found him.

No, _when_ they found him…

* * *

><p>At first, he was sure it was a figment of his imagination.<p>

Neal lowered the binoculars, rubbed his eyes, and then raised the field glass again…

It was still there. Too far away to make out any detail, but definitely something that was altering the otherwise flat horizon.

_Could they really have been lucky enough to have been storm-tossed into a shipping lane?_

"Hey!" He held out the binoculars toward Sara, pointing with his other hand. "Look out there and tell me if you see something."

She took the binoculars, looked, dropped her hands for a moment, then raised them to look again. "Is that a ship?"

"I think it might be."

"Do you think it'll come close enough to see us?"

"I can't tell yet, it's too far away. But we'll watch it. We've got paddles, flares, and that short-range emergency beacon."

"They have to see us," Sara whispered. "We have to make sure."

He put his hands on her arms, leaned against her shoulder, and shared her hope.

* * *

><p>They finally had something.<p>

After two days of tantalizing hints, but nothing they could actually _do_ something with, there was finally a concrete lead to follow.

The police van that had shown up in both the West Village and at the park in Harlem had continued on to the river. And that's where they caught a break. Two traffic cameras from near the Madison Avenue bridge caught grainy images of men carrying bundles down to a boat – bundles that looked suspiciously human-like.

The tech guys were trying to clean up the video, but Peter's gut already knew – they were looking at Neal and Sara being loaded onto a boat in the Harlem River. Neither of them appeared to be struggling at all, which led to the conclusion that they were at least unconscious, if not…

_Dead._

No, he couldn't let his thoughts go there. Until they had evidence to the contrary, Neal and Sara were hostages – _live_ hostages.

Even with Dave Shattuck's connections, they didn't have names yet for who had checked the van out on Monday; hopefully the tech lab would have some luck getting the faces clearer. In the meantime, they had the GPS tracking information. He and Dave were going to follow the path, down to the Harlem River, and then the locations the van had been to afterward. While they were doing that, he hoped the search warrant for the van came through, because they knew where it was now, hidden away in a police garage in Yonkers.

That left Diana and Jones to lead the team here, something they were both eminently qualified to do. They would continue to track down the names that were identified as key suspects, either from the prosecutor's notes or from the financial records.

Rice had gotten a court order to check Sara's apartment. The renovations she had contracted when she moved into the new place were not yet finished, so they found a lot of boxes still packed and sealed. It would be a long haul for them, looking for anything helpful. In addition, Sterling Bosch had insisted on having a representative there, in case any sensitive company information was discovered.

Peter didn't envy Rice having to deal with that.

So, they still didn't have much, but they had _something._ He shrugged on his suit coat and headed for the conference room to corral Shattuck.

Time to get on the road.

* * *

><p>They paddled frantically in the late afternoon light, trying to close some distance between them and what Neal was now sure was a freighter. His concern was that there was still too much light to be sure that a flare would be seen. And they didn't know what the effective distance was on the emergency beacon.<p>

The ship was still east of them, so he didn't want to waste a flare just yet. They'd get as close as possible before trying that. But he wouldn't let it pass them to the west without firing a flare. It was far more likely that there would be lookouts facing forward than to the rear.

"Time to switch," he said, drawing in a deep breath after just those three words. They were changing sides every so often, hoping that the different positions would let them keep paddling a little longer.

Sara just nodded and moved in front of him to the other side. As he moved, Neal grabbed the emergency beacon and started it pinging. This was the only ship they had seen in almost two days.

It might be their only chance.

He also grabbed two of the flares, placing them close to his knees as he started to paddle again. They'd be handy, when it was time.

_Time…_

In reality, time had little meaning just then. There was only the constant paddling, the burn in his muscles as he forced himself to keep working.

Finally, he set the paddle aside, trying to ignore the bloody handprints he left behind. It was difficult to judge distances, with no landmarks to use as a reference. But they seemed to be nearly opposite the freighter, and the big ship had shown no sign of slowing or changing course in response to the beacon.

He picked up one of the flares, removed the safety cover, and fired it.

It rose into the air, burning and sputtering, flying high over their heads. It rose higher, higher…

Neal found that he was holding his breath by the time the flare reached the zenith of its trajectory and burned brightest. One look over at Sara showed that she, too, had stopped paddling and was watching the sputtering flare.

As the light at last sputtered and died, Neal finally looked back to the freighter.

_Was it just his imagination, or was the freighter slowing, turning slightly…_

He crawled over to Sara, one weary arm across her shoulders, and they watched.

* * *

><p>Hands on his hips, a tight scowl on his face, Peter surveyed the scene. <em>Neal always called it Peter's uptight agent pose…<em>

With a conscious effort he unclenched his hands and loosened his jaw. After more than two days, there wasn't much to find down by the river – but the evidence recovery team was coming anyway, just in case. They were also waiting for some additional agents to arrive to start canvassing the area for any witnesses who might have seen something out of the ordinary on Monday afternoon.

He turned as Shattuck approached. "Anything?"

The police captain nodded, the late afternoon sun making his glasses sparkle. "Judge Compton is due out of court within the next half hour. My guys are there with the search warrant request. We should know soon if we can go after the van."

Peter forced himself to nod, calmly. "As soon as we get some more people here to do the canvas, you and I can follow the rest of the van's track for Monday, see if it leads us anywhere."

"Any update on your teams? Some of these businesses are going to be closing soon."

Peter started to reply, then looked over Shattuck's shoulder. "They're here now."


	10. Rescue

The zodiac from the freighter was, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing Neal had ever seen.

The pilot capably steered the craft up next to the raft with no more than the slightest of bumps. Hands reached over, securing the raft to the rescue craft, helping Sara and Neal on board.

Neal collapsed onto the floor of the boat, watching idly as the crew emptied the raft of all of its contents. Maybe they thought some of it was personal property that would be needed, or maybe they were looking to sell the gear on eBay.

He didn't care.

As one of the crew literally pulled the plug on the raft, the zodiac turned back toward its parent ship. Behind them, the raft was left to deflate, and ultimately sink.

That probably wasn't very green… but he couldn't muster the strength to really care.

It might not have done any good to ask questions anyway. The crew was talking, all of it in a language he didn't understand. From the look on her face, it didn't seem that Sara spoke the language either. But Neal was pretty well versed in other means of communication – like body language – and there was nothing threatening about these men. So he relaxed, and watched the freighter loom ever larger as they approached.

They reached the ship, the crew quickly attached the cables, and the zodiac was winched back on board.

Quite a crowd had gathered – probably pretty much all of the crew, Neal guessed. There was a lot more talking, and he could pick out what seemed to be a few different languages, but still none he recognized.

A large man, with dark hair and a bushy mustache, stepped to the front. From the way the others reacted, Neal guessed this was the ship's captain. He tried greetings in a few of the languages he did know, finally getting a positive response to French.

The captain smiled, a big, toothy grin. "Français?"

Neal nodded. "Oui, je parle français."

The other man turned, giving some rapid-fire orders to the crew behind him. One of the men nodded and headed off. The captain turned back to his guests with a smile and the nearly universal hand gesture for 'wait.'

As they waited, Sara leaned in. "If you want to give them a different name, I'll back you."

"What do you mean?"

"Neal, if you really think they'll put you back in prison next week, this is your chance. We don't have any ID. Give them a different name and I'll… I'll tell everyone that Neal Caffrey went overboard and that was the last I saw of him."

For a moment, it was tempting. _He could be Victor Moreau. One call to June and she'd find the passport in his room, get it to him. If they weren't already heading for Canada , they must be close…_

But then he shook his head, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. "Thank you," he whispered. "But I'm done running, Sara."

She just nodded and leaned in against his chest.

Two men came hurrying up just then. One was the crew member who had run off to follow the captain's orders. The other was wearing a food-spattered apron…

_The cook?_

Yes, the freighter's cook spoke French – and quite passably, as it turned out. He introduced himself, and the captain, and explained that they were on a Liberian-registered vessel, currently contracted for a haul from Helsinki, Finland to Portland, Maine. And who were their guests?

Neal smiled and extended his hand. "Mon nom est Neal Caffrey. C'est Sara Ellis," he said. "Merci de nous trouver."

_Thank you, indeed, for finding us…_

* * *

><p>The warrant finally came through, and one of Dave Shattuck's people had picked it up and delivered it to the precinct in Yonkers . Peter was there now, watching as a small forensics team swarmed over the green van.<p>

But it wasn't hard to tell that they weren't finding much. Nothing was being bagged, no one was holding anything up to the light to examine closer…

His phone rang, distracting him from those thoughts. "Diana, what's… They what… When… Right, I know where it is. I'll see you there."

He leaned against the wall behind him, sliding down to the floor. Legs up, he laid his arms over his knees and lowered his head, taking a deep breath.

"Peter?"

Peter looked up into the concerned face of his friend, managing a smile. "They found them, Dave. Caffrey and Sara Ellis."

"Where?"

"Apparently, adrift at sea."

"That's gotta be some story. They're all right?"

"Yeah. The Coast Guard sent a chopper, and they're coming in to the Staten Island station."

Shattuck reached a hand down, pulling Peter to his feet. "Go. I've got things covered here – not that I think they're going to find anything."

"Thanks, Dave."

"Sure. I'll let you know if I get anything. And I want to hear the whole lost at sea story from you!"

Peter just nodded. "I'm looking forward to that one myself!"

* * *

><p>They were almost home.<p>

After explaining who they were, and why they had been in the water, the captain had had Neal and Sara escorted to the radio room. Actually, it turned out to be little more than a radio closet, so Sara had waited outside while Neal went in. With help from their translator-cook, the radio operator had contacted the Coast Guard. The service had dispatched a fast cutter out from Portland to meet them.

While they waited, the crew of the freighter had offered them a marvelous gift – showers. It didn't matter that the enclosure was tiny, or the water pressure minimal. Just being able to wash off all of the sea salt and sweat had made Neal feel nearly human again. He'd found a set of clothing waiting for him when he got out the shower. Well-worn, but clean, his weren't a bad fit. Sara's, on the other hand…

Well, it was gracious of the smallest crew member to have given them to her. She just happened to look like she was about to disappear into them.

Their translator had turned out to be a decent cook as well. He had laid out a spread of fresh bread, cheese, soup, and pie. Both Neal and Sara had eaten sparingly, though Neal had hastened to assure the cook that the food was excellent. After two days of nothing but seaweed, it just didn't seem wise to push things too much. But when the coffee came…

Neal truly almost hugged the man. It might not have been Italian roast, but ambrosia served by the ancient gods couldn't have tasted so sweet.

Finally, showered, clothed, and fed, they were led back up onto the deck. The speedy cutter could be seen approaching, and they were soon on board.

Now, the lights of the city twinkled below them, almost as if the helicopter was flying upside down, and they were looking at the stars in the sky.

The Coast Guard craft swung back to the east, and then southward again, as they approached the Staten Island station. Neal leaned forward, watching as they crossed over Brooklyn, looking at Manhattan just beyond. Beside him, he could feel the gentle pressure of Sara's hand in his.

Well, more accurately, he could feel the gentle pressure of Sara's hand against the bandages on his.

Both of them had heavily bandaged hands, actually, courtesy of the furious paddling they'd done. The freighter hadn't had a doctor on board, but one of the crewmen had been trained in first aid. Their blistered and bleeding hands were cleaned and bandaged. Neal's wrists were bandaged too, hiding a layer of antiseptic designed to fight any infection that might have been setting in from those injuries. Sara had a cut by her hairline that had been cleaned and bandaged as well.

There wasn't much to be done for the various bumps and bruises, but even those seemed to feel better now that their ordeal was almost done.

At least, this chapter was almost done.

* * *

><p>Jones and Diana waited by the car, watching as the big orange chopper approached. They were far enough back not to feel the full pressure of the rotor downwash, but it still got suddenly windy where they were.<p>

Peter hadn't arrived yet, but he had said he was on the way. No problem, they could handle things.

The problem was, the inter-agency alert on Neal and Sara's names had alerted the police to their imminent arrival as well. Several patrol cars were there, lights flashing. Normally, that would have been fine. But with all of the Donnelly files fresh in mind, it was natural to wonder whether the police were there because of the missing persons case – or because they were part of the deputy commissioner's shadow force.

Neither agent liked the feeling of not knowing the answer to that question.

* * *

><p>The helicopter circled, dropped low to the ground, hovered a moment, and then settled directly on the landing target.<p>

An enlisted ground crew member ran forward, sliding chocks under the wheels. Another pulled open the back door.

Neal climbed down, taking a moment to steady himself as his feet touched solid ground for the first time in over two full days. Then he reached back in, offering a hand to Sara as she carefully exited.

They'd only taken a few steps when two men approached, signaling them to stop. "Neal Caffrey?"

It was easy to see the weapon holsters as Neal studied them. For a moment he wondered whether it might have been better to go with 'Vic Moreau' after all, but then he nodded. "Yes."

One of the men flashed a badge. "US Marshals. We have a warrant for your arrest."

It was Sara who spoke up first. "Arrest? For what?"

The second marshal held out a piece of paper. "This is a fugitive warrant filed on Monday."

Neal shook his head slowly and sighed. "Fugitive. That's great." He squeezed Sara's hand and gently held her back when it seemed like she was about to argue.

The first marshal had the handcuffs out. "We need you to come with us now."

Neal could see Jones and Diana hurrying toward them, and he carefully held his hands out, using one to point toward the approaching agents. "Look, just give me a minute, please," he said. "They're FBI agents, and I'm not trying to run."

The marshals didn't look happy, but by this time Jones and Diana had gotten close enough so that their badges were clearly visible. Neal took a couple of steps to meet them, bringing Sara with him.

Diana got there first, by half a step. "Are you two all right?"

"I'll let you know when the world stops rocking," Sara replied.

Neal nodded in agreement. "We've been on the water since Monday afternoon, including most of the last two days on a small survival raft." He looked past them for a moment, studying the police vehicles. "Did you find my phone, and the files?"

Jones nodded. "Yeah, we know about Donnelly. It just didn't help us much trying to find you."

"We kind of figured," Sara said.

"But Donnelly most likely knows by now that we survived," Neal added. "You need to get Sara somewhere safe."

Diana took a quick glance over at the police cars now. "Most of the Bureau's safe houses will be on the inter-agency site – part of our increased cooperation initiative. Donnelly can access it."

Neal nodded. "Sara and I discussed that."

"I have some friends with a place in the Hamptons," Sara explained. "They're out of the country for a few months, and they left me a key. I don't think anyone can connect me to the place."

"Assuming you can get her there safely," Neal added.

"Yeah, we can handle that," Jones said.

The marshals had moved closer, and Neal spared them a quick look before turning back. "There's something else. These guys know who I am, and where I live. June's there…"

"As soon as we can wrap up here, I'll go over there," Diana offered.

"June was planning to visit her son next week anyway. She was just waiting until… after my hearing," Neal said.

Diana laid a hand gently on his arm. "I'll make sure she's all right."

Neal nodded, just as the marshals came up behind him. "Thanks. I'd do it myself, but I seem to be a fugitive."

"Damn." Jones shook his head slowly. "Peter had me call it in on Monday, before we knew what was going on. I guess we never called off the warrant. I'm sorry, Neal."

Before Neal could answer, Diana was flashing her badge up close to the marshals. "Look, the warrant is a mistake. Our boss will be here any time now, and he'll explain it."

"We have our orders," one of the marshals said, even as the other was pulling out his handcuffs. "And a valid warrant. Caffrey will be at the federal holding facility. Your boss can find him there."

Diana started to argue, but Neal waved her off. "It's all right. It's not worth fighting. Just take care of Sara and June."

Sara stepped up, giving the marshals a murderous glare, and then wrapped her arms around him. "No, Neal, it's not right. Not after everything you've been through."

He returned the hug for a moment, eyes closed. "Just take care of yourself, Repo."

"Neal…"

The first cuff clicked as it locked onto his wrist, and he couldn't quite contain the hiss of pain as his arms were pulled back.

"He's hurt!" Sara objected, starting forward.

Neal took half a step, blocking her with his shoulder. "Sara, it's fine."

She took a deep breath, getting control. "I meant what I said, about testifying."

"I know." There was movement from the parking area, and for a moment Neal let himself hope that it was Peter. Instead, three police officers were headed their way. "Jones."

The agent quickly saw what Neal had and he reached for Sara's arm. "Let's go."

Neal watched them go – watched as Sara looked back at him for a long moment before finally turning to face where she was going. "Goodbye, Sara," he whispered.

And then he felt the tug on his arms as the marshals started to leave.

"I'll fill Peter in as soon as he gets here," Diana promised. "He'll take care of this."

Neal just nodded, and then he turned to go with the marshals.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Apologies if the French is questionable - it's from Google translations!_


	11. Reunion

Peter checked his gun at the desk, assured the duty officer he had no back-up weapon or anything else apt to be used as a threat against him, signed the visitor form, and then followed one of the deputies through the heavy security door.

They walked down a hallway lined with cells. Most, Peter noticed, were empty. Apparently there weren't currently many prisoners in limbo at the federal holding facility. Of course, the transports back to the prisons would have already left for the day, and this section was only for short-term holding. There were different wings for those who would be staying longer.

The guard finally stopped at the last cell on the left and unlocked the door. "You want me to stay?"

Peter shook his head. "No, no need."

The other man nodded, pulled the door all the way open, and then headed off back down the hall toward the reception area.

Peter stepped into the open doorway and stopped there, looking inside. Neal was on the bunk, but sitting up, pressed into the corner. His legs were drawn up, arms around his knees, his head down.

"Neal?" Getting no response, Peter stepped all of the way into the cell. "Neal."

Neal finally moved, raising his head to look up. The light in the cell wasn't bright, but it still highlighted the bruising along the side of the younger man's jaw. And as Neal shifted, the bandages on his arms and hands were visible under the drab grey jumpsuit he wore.

"How are you doing?"

Neal shrugged, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes closed. "Let's see. Since Monday, I've been kidnapped, tased, beaten, drugged, and threatened with a gun. I had to jump off a boat into the ocean to get away, where we were stalked by a shark. I've spent most of the last two days drifting in a flimsy life raft. Finally got back to dry land, only to find there was an arrest warrant out for me. So then I was handcuffed, stripped, cavity searched, and locked up." He finally opened his eyes and looked up. "I guess you could say it's been a hell of a few days." He paused, with a short, bitter laugh. "And all I did was go to lunch!"

"Yeah." Peter sighed. "Look, they said they'll have a new anklet here in the morning."

"Right."

"Neal…"

"Will you answer one question for me?"

"Sure, if I can."

Neal moved his legs until he was sitting cross-legged on the bunk and looked directly at Peter. "Did you even _try_ calling Sara before you slapped the 'escaped' tag on me?"

"I think it was pretty much simultaneous," Peter admitted. "I told Jones to call the marshals and then I called her office number." He sighed and leaned back against the built-in table across from the bed. "By the time Jones found that file on your phone, and a few other pieces started coming together… well, I never thought to call the marshals to remove the arrest warrant."

The smile on Neal's face was soft, sad. "I used to have this dream that someday, when something went wrong, you wouldn't automatically assume the worst of me."

Peter had to take a deep breath before answering. "Neal, we'll get there."

"Before Tuesday?" Neal shook his head slowly and leaned back, closing his eyes again. "Somehow, I don't see that happening."

"It's a hearing…"

"Right. Where they can do anything from close my case – to send me back to prison for life. Given recent events, I know where I'd place my bet."

"I don't know that it's that dire. They can also commute your sentence."

"Let's say my luck hasn't been the best recently."

Peter found he really didn't have an answer to that, so he changed the subject. "We'll want to get your full statement in the morning, but is there anything you can think of that might tell us where these guys were headed before you jumped ship?"

Neal looked up again and shook his head. "They didn't say anything about their travel plans. If they kept going, I imagine they'll wind up in Europe, maybe Portugal. But I kind of got the feeling that the trip to deep water was probably just so they could get rid of Sara and me."

"Anything you recall about the boat that might help?"

"When we went overboard, I saw the name. It was the _Penelope Ann_, out of Nantucket. Of course, it's not exactly hard to paint a new name on a yacht."

"Well, it's something. I'll get someone to check it out. Anything else?"

"I don't know. Between being knocked out, and drugged, and getting no sleep, everything's kind of jumbled."

"Yeah, Sara couldn't recall many details tonight either."

"You got her out of town safely?"

Peter nodded. "Jones called. They made it to her friend's house in the Hamptons. He said there was no sign of anyone tailing them, but he was going to stay until morning."

"Good. And June?"

"Diana took her to a hotel for the night. She's booked on a flight to Tampa in the morning. And we've got a team watching the house for tonight, in case anyone shows up there."

"That's good."

"Do you think you'll be able to describe the men who took you in the morning? Or maybe sketch them?"

"I'll try. Oh, and you might want to look for a marshal named Ryan. He's the one they met who had the key to the anklet."

"Is Ryan a first or last name?"

"I don't know. That's just the only name I heard. And maybe he's not even a marshal himself. I never really saw him."

"But he must have connections at least to get a key." _And that put leaving Neal here, under the US Marshals' authority, in a different light._ "I'll be right back."

* * *

><p>He hadn't meant to fall asleep, he really hadn't. But despite their recent problems, Peter's car was familiar, comfortable. All he remembered was leaning back against the headrest, intending to close his eyes for a minute…<p>

He came awake when the car stopped, and he heard Peter cut the engine.

Except this was definitely not where he thought they were headed.

"When you said you wanted to start on my statement, I thought we were going to the office."

"It's the middle of the night, Neal. Actually, almost two o'clock in the morning. Not prime office hours."

Neal just stared up at the house. He'd been here so many times, but that was… before. "You know Elizabeth doesn't want me here."

Peter sighed, opening his door. "I'm not asking you to move in, Neal. But I'm responsible for you until the new anklet comes. And I'm still hoping for a couple hours of sleep."

Neal watched as Peter got out of the car, started toward the house, and then came back to the car, opening Neal's door. "Come on, let's go."

"This is a really bad idea."

"Do you want to spend the night in holding?"

"Well…"

"Rhetorical question. Let's go."

Neal sighed and slowly extracted himself from the car, following Peter up to the front door. He waited while Peter unlocked the door, disengaged the security system, and then stepped aside.

Satchmo came running up, tail wagging. While Peter turned his attention to resetting the alarm, Neal knelt down, getting a big, sloppy kiss for his efforts. "Hey, Satch. Yeah, I've missed you too."

Peter had moved past him, heading toward the kitchen. With one more good scratch for Satchmo's ears, Neal got to his feet and followed.

Peter was at the refrigerator. "Want a beer?"

Neal shook his head, sinking down onto a chair at the table. "I don't think my stomach could handle it."

"Iced tea?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

Peter poured two glasses and came over to the table, sliding one across toward Neal. "Do you need something for your stomach? Like Tums, or the pink stuff?"

"No, that's fine. It's just, after two days of seaweed and syrupy seawater, I don't want to push it too much."

"Right." Peter pulled out a chair and sat down. "Are you up to talking?"

"Sure."

"Jones gave me the bullet points from what Sara told him on the way to the Hamptons. And we'll get your full written statement in the morning. But I want to hear your take on the highlights."

"The highlights." Neal paused for a sip of his tea, taking an extra moment to wipe at the condensation on the outside of his glass. "I wasn't lying to you on Monday. Sara called and asked me to meet her for lunch. I didn't know why."

"We tracked you to the Chantilly café."

"Right. It's a place Sara knew. I got there first, ordered some wine. The only thing strange when she got there was that she was wearing jeans and a baseball cap."

"I wasn't sure she even owned something like jeans," Peter admitted.

"Like I said, it seemed a little strange. But she said she just had the morning off. And then she said she thought she'd been followed a few times."

"Could she identify the people following her?"

"I don't know. We didn't talk about that."

"All right. I'll check with Sara on that." Peter made a note on a pad that he'd had out on the table. "Why did she go to you with this?"

"The first time she noticed something, we were still together. And she thought she might have seen someone outside of June's one time."

"So she thought they might be watching you too."

Neal nodded. "I never saw anything though, and I'm usually pretty good at spotting a tail."

"But she's sure this has to do with those Donnelly files?"

"Well, that's definitely what the guys who took us wanted to talk about. And the timing fits for when Sara acquired the files, and the tails started."

"I don't understand why she didn't just bring this to me."

"She wasn't sure if it was your jurisdiction. And she wanted to warn me that these guys might know about me."

Peter nodded, taking a big drink of his tea. "All right. You read the files on the card?"

"Some of it. Enough to know that if it was all true, it was big. I mean, the deputy police commissioner running his own little force within a force? I told Sara that as soon as we finished eating, she should come with me to talk to you."

"So you were coming back to the office?"

"That was the plan. But some other people had a different idea."

"They picked you up at the café?"

"Yeah. We tried to get to a busier area to blend in with the crowd, but there were at least seven guys, and two vehicles."

"We tracked down a SUV and a panel van."

"I did try to call you."

"Yeah, Jones found the call, but not until later the next day. My phone never rang."

"It was a long shot. I couldn't exactly stop, so I was trying to dial by touch while we ran."

"But you managed to hide your phone."

"I figured if Sara and I managed to get away, I could always go back for it and get the files. And if we didn't… well, the phone would be the next logical step after the tracking anklet."

"Okay, so these guys caught up with you."

"We tried to fight, but there were too many of them. And they had Tasers. I remember seeing them get Sara, and then they were coming at me. I sort of came to at one point, lying in the back of the van. That's when they were talking about this guy, Ryan, and they removed the anklet."

"You're sure they had a key?"

"Pretty sure. He said he had a key."

"All right, we'll get a quiet search of the US Marshal database in the morning, see what we can find."

"They gave me something, some kind of drug in a needle. The next thing I knew, we were being carried to a boat. I think it was the Madison Avenue bridge area."

"Captain Shattuck got us the GPS information for the vehicles, and we found the traffic footage. We had teams interviewing around the area, but that was just earlier on Wednesday. We were two full days behind you."

"Well, the next thing I knew after that, I was waking up on a yacht."

"The _Penelope Ann._"

"Yeah. Sara and I were locked in a cabin, cuffed and tied up. At one point they took us up for a little chat – with fists and guns. I only got one name, Gavin."

"But you can sketch them?"

"Definitely. Those are faces I won't forget."

"We can match the faces with the names we got from the prosecutor, see if any of them match."

"Prosecutor?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, it turns out that Barry Koontz, the guy Sara recovered the miniature from, had testified in a grand jury hearing."

"Against Donnelly."

"Exactly. What did the men who were questioning you want?"

"They wanted to know where the original card was. And the documents that were scanned onto it."

"The original? So what we found in your phone…"

"A copy, after Sara got the files decrypted."

"And the original?"

Neal shook his head. "I don't know. You'll have to ask Sara."

"So she didn't tell Donnelly's men."

"No. They finally locked us up again, and said we had one more chance to talk in the morning. But it didn't take much to figure that they weren't taking us out to deep water just for fun."

"Right. Toss you overboard, and we'd never know."

"That's the way I figured it. Anyway, it wasn't hard to get out of the cuffs. We waited to make sure they'd settled in for the night, then went out the window. I grabbed one of the survival rafts, and we went off the dive deck into the water. After that, it was a lot of ocean, and one hell of a storm."

Peter's eyes went wide. "That storm on Tuesday…"

"Let's say it's not something I recommend experiencing on the high seas in a small raft."

"I'll take your word for that."

Neal just nodded. "Wednesday afternoon, we saw a ship on the horizon. As it got closer, we paddled like hell to narrow the distance as much as we could."

Peter pointed at Neal's bandaged hands. "That's the result?"

"Yeah, raw and blistered. But they either picked up the emergency beacon, or saw the flare; I guess I didn't ask. The cook spoke French, so we could communicate. They called the Coast Guard, and the service sent a cutter. But then I guess they ran our names, and there must have been an alert, because then they brought in a helicopter."

"We had an inter-agency alert out."

Neal leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Because you had a fugitive."

Peter nodded slowly. "Neal, I'm sorry…"

Neal waved that off. "It's done. Look, can we go after Donnelly?"

"That's going to be hard. We're still waiting on word whether we can get access to the grand jury proceedings. Without Koontz to testify, that may not even matter."

"You've got all of the documents on the card."

"But they're not the originals. Without something more, there's no way that those scans are going to stand up."

"That's what they kept asking Sara and me about – where the originals were."

"And I assume she doesn't know."

"Peter, she only found the SD-card because it was hidden behind the miniature she was recovering. She wasn't there looking for documents."

"Right. Look, we'll get your statement, and Sara's. Combined with the kidnapping, maybe there's something the prosecutor can do."

"Peter, we can do more. Let me go in…"

"What's going on?"

Both men looked up as Elizabeth stepped off the stairs and into the living room.

Neal took a deep breath and pushed his glass away. "Elizabeth. I know I'm not welcome here." He looked over at Peter before continuing. "I wasn't given much of a choice."

She turned her attention to her husband. "Apparently you've solved your missing persons case. Is Sara all right?"

Peter nodded. "She's fine, though still in danger."

"Well, that seems to be a common theme around here," Elizabeth said, continuing to the kitchen.

"She's right," Neal said, his voice pitched low. "Too many people have been in danger. We need to do something about this one."

"Neal, we can't just go after someone like Donnelly half-cocked," Peter countered, his own voice barely more than a whisper. "If his people know who you are, then you're in danger too, and I'm not going to make it worse. We'll put all of our information together tomorrow, maybe see what Shattuck has been able to find. Then we'll come up with a plan."

"Peter, please. I may not have much time left, and I don't want to waste what little I have."

That brought Elizabeth back toward the table. "What does that mean, not much time?"

Neal looked to Peter for help, but the agent didn't appear to be in any hurry to answer. "There's a hearing next Tuesday," he started.

Elizabeth looked between the two men. "I know."

Neal nodded. "Peter says the outcome isn't pre-ordained, but I figure there's a pretty good chance that I'll be back in prison by Tuesday night."

"We don't know what's going to happen," Peter insisted.

"You're not going to try and rush into something, are you?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter got to his feet, reaching out for his wife's hand. "Hon, everything the last couple of days, it was related to a case Sara was working on. Honestly, I don't even know yet if it's a Bureau case at all. And no one's rushing into anything." He kissed her cheek, and then turned back to Neal. "All right, I need to hit the bathroom, then we'll talk this through some more."

Neal could only watch helplessly as Peter headed for the stairs. He allowed himself a brief moment of hope that Elizabeth would follow…

She didn't.

The silence that followed dragged on for hours. Well, at least a minute or two, though it _seemed_ like hours.

Elizabeth finally pointed at his hands. "What happened?"

He had no idea how much Peter might have told her over the last couple of days, but it didn't seem like he had talked to his wife since the resolution of his and Sara's ordeal. So maybe a very brief overview was safe. "Sara and I were kidnapped on Monday. They put us on a boat, and I think the idea was to toss us overboard, but we managed to escape. Then we spent the last couple of days on a survival raft."

"And this was really related to Sara's work?"

"Yeah. For once, it had nothing to do with me, except that I was there when they came for her."

"Not a pleasant experience anyway though, was it."

_And there it was – the elephant in the room had just stomped on his head…_ "No," he admitted. "Not at all." She made no move to say anything, so he finally took a deep breath, held it a moment before letting it out, and then continued. "I'm not going to ask you to forgive me. I know that's expecting too much. But do you at least believe that I would never – _never_ – have done anything that I _knew_ would put you in danger?"

He realized he was actually holding his breath, waiting for her answer.

Elizabeth finally nodded, very slowly. "I do believe that, Neal. But you did hurt people."

"I know."

"Do you remember when I told you I thought your heart was good, but you make bad decisions sometimes?"

"I remember. And sometimes even when I make a good decision, it takes me too long to get there." He paused, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "Peter and Mozzie were my best friends. I just… I can't even tell you how hard it was to choose between them. By the time I decided to stay…"

"You were really staying?"

"Yeah, I was. But it was too late. The right decision, the wrong time, and you paid for it." He took a chance, stepped a little closer. "Look, they'll have a new tracking anklet in the morning, and I'll be out of here. And after Tuesday, one way or another, I probably won't even be Peter's problem any more. You never have to see me again."

And then, miraculously, she was turning toward him, looking right _at_ him, a soft smile on her face. "It's too late for that, Neal. You're part of our lives, for better or worse. And while there have definitely been some worse times, there have been a lot of better times too."

"Elizabeth…"

She wrapped her arms around him, leaning against his chest, and he lost all track of what he had meant to say. "Peter will figure this out," he finally managed to choke out. "That's what he's the best at."

She just nodded, and there was really nothing else he could say.


	12. Fresh Start

Peter stood frozen at the top of the stairs, listening. He'd hurried his business, knowing that he probably shouldn't leave his wife and Neal for very long.

But now, it sounded like being left alone was exactly what the two of them had needed.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, stopping at the bottom – watching as his wife embraced, and was embraced by, another man.

And he realized he was jealous.

Oh, not the kind of jealousy in a romantic sense. He had no doubts about Elizabeth's love for him.

No, he was jealous that, despite her hostage ordeal, she was still the one who was able to move past it first, and say out loud what they both knew to be true. Neal _was _a part of their lives.

For better or worse.

He finally cleared his throat and stepped around the corner, watching as Elizabeth and Neal slowly backed away from each other. "Everything all right?"

Elizabeth nodded, wiping away a pesky tear. "Fine."

Neal nodded too, his eyes suspiciously moist under the light. "We're good."

"Good." Peter walked back over to the table and sat down, pulling his notepad close. "Let's talk this through, and then try for some sleep."

"Well, I'm going up," Elizabeth said. "I'll make up the guest room."

"No, don't bother." Neal's voice was quiet, but firm. "It'll only be a couple of hours. The couch is fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, but thanks."

Elizabeth conceded the argument, leaning over to kiss Peter's cheek. "Good night then."

He kissed her back. "Good night, hon. I'll be up soon."

Both men watched as she disappeared up the stairs. Finally, Neal came to the table, leaning against the back of one of the chairs. "What else do you need to know now?"

"You had an idea about how to take these guys down. I'm not going to rush into anything, but let's hear it."

Neal slowly shook his head. "No, it was a bad idea."

"Maybe you should let me hear it."

"No, you were right. We'll take the statements, the sketches, everything, and give it all to the local prosecutor. Let them deal with it."

"Neal Caffrey, advising me to let the legal system run its natural course? Come on, what was your idea?"

"It doesn't matter," Neal insisted. "Peter, they'll know if you get involved. It'll make you a target – it'll make _Elizabeth_ a target. I can't do that again."

"But they know who you are. You're already a target."

"But _only_ me. Nothing to be done about it."

"Neal…"

"Peter, it's not like I can go to the Hamptons and hide out with Sara. Once we put the anklet back on, everything in my radius is also part of Donnelly's turf."

"They'll come after you."

"Maybe, especially when they can't find Sara. No one else knows where she is, right?"

"Just Jones. I had him e-mail the location to a special address Hughes has, just in case."

"Hughes has a secret e-mail address?"

"There are a few of them, just in case the regular FBI addresses could be compromised."

"And there's no way to know just how far Donnelly's reach extends."

Peter sighed and nodded. "Unfortunately, that's true."

"All the more reason to let the locals investigate this. Peter, it's not your case."

Peter leaned his head against his hands, rubbing at weary eyes. Then he looked up again. "All right, we'll start with the statements and the sketches in the morning. See what Dave Shattuck can come up with. And then we'll figure out where we go from there."

Neal stepped aside as Peter got up, looking over at the couch. "I know my word's not worth much with you, but I'm not going anywhere."

"I believe you," Peter said – and what's more, he even believed those words himself. He reached out slowly, laying a hand on Neal's shoulder.

The touch only lasted a second or two, before Peter turned and headed for the stairs. But it was a start.

* * *

><p>Morning arrived with the bleating of the alarm. Peter groaned and reached over to silence it. He was almost tempted to just roll over again…<p>

Then all of the memories of the last couple of days came back, and he found himself sitting up on the edge of the bed. He was neck deep in another mess, and he and his team needed to figure out the best way to proceed. And Neal…

Was hopefully still downstairs.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get the back to lay flat, as he made his way to the door. One look back at the bed confirmed that Elizabeth had settled in again; she had that ability, to all but ignore any alarm except hers.

As silently as he could, Peter made his way to the stairs and started down. If Neal was gone…

But he wasn't, and there was something vaguely comforting about seeing the younger man there, sprawled on the couch, one hand trailing down to where Satchmo lay.

Peter moved past them into the kitchen, going directly to the coffee pot. He started a pot brewing and then turned to the refrigerator, poking around the shelves and finally coming out with eggs and some bacon. He closed the door…

Neal was standing there.

To say that the younger man looked different than usual would be an understatement. His hair was disheveled, standing out at strange angles. Even on the many occasions when Peter had shown up early to get him, Neal had never looked like this. There was an unhealthy pallor to his skin, set off by the dark circles under his eyes. Add in the fact that he was still wearing the ill-fitting clothes from the freighter, complete with lumpy grey socks, and he was looking _very_ un-Neal-like.

"You're cooking?"

Peter shrugged. "I can scramble eggs."

Neal picked up the loaf of French bread from the counter. "How about French toast?"

That actually sounded a lot better, so Peter stepped back, allowing Neal the space he needed to work.

The coffee finished and Peter poured two cups, leaving one on the counter. He took the other and leaned against the island, watching. Neal had sometimes talked about cooking, but he'd never really had the chance to watch the younger man in action in the kitchen before. All of Neal's actions were measured, confident, as he whisked ingredients in a bowl, sliced the bread, soaked the slices. Neal heated up the griddle pan – something he had helped Elizabeth shop for a few months back – and dropped some butter on it to melt. On the other side of the stove he had a frying pan heating, and now there came the sizzle of bacon as he dropped the first few slices in.

Neal was just putting the first pieces of bread on the griddle when Elizabeth came in. "Wow, something smells good."

Peter moved to pour another cup of coffee. "Neal's showing off."

Neal just shrugged at that. "It's the least I can do."

"So did you boys figure out what you're going to do?" she asked.

Peter caught Neal's eye, and knew they both understood there was still a lot to figure out. "I think we know where to start."

Neal tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. "Can we start by going to June's so I can shower and change?"

"I imagine if I took you to the office like you are, you'd claim it was cruel and unusual punishment again." The look Neal gave him in reply was enough to make Peter smile. "Right, first stop, Riverside Drive."

* * *

><p>The house was eerily quiet when they got there. Apparently June had had a chance to call her staff and tell them to stay home.<p>

Well, that was one worry taken care of.

Still, Peter made Neal stay behind him as he went in first, gun drawn. But there was no sign that anyone had been there.

Peter started for the stairs, but Neal stopped him, instead leading him through the darkened kitchen to a small alcove on the back side. Inside, there was a series of monitors, mostly showing the outside angles of the home.

"This is where the security cameras record," Neal said. "Just in case something happens to me in the next few days."

"Neal…"

"There's more." Neal moved back through the kitchen and led the way down the stairs to the basement. He went to a cabinet and started to move things from one of the shelves. "Mozzie made a few… enhancements to June's security system." He pressed the lower left corner of the partition behind the shelf and the panel popped open, revealing more recording equipment. "The set-up off the kitchen is pretty easy for anyone to find. This backs everything up for forty-eight hours until it loops. Hopefully you'll never need to access it, but…"

"I'll talk to Hughes about setting up a protection detail."

Neal had started putting things back on the shelf. "Somehow, I don't see that being one of his priorities. But if something _does_ happen here, at least you know."

* * *

><p>If ever Peter had needed proof that the clothes could, indeed, make the man, he got it when Neal came out into the main room. Showered, shaved, and dressed in a black pinstripe suit, he was again the confidant man Peter was used to. Oh, if you looked close, the dark circles were still there under his eyes, as were the bruises and bandages. But the clothing seemed to act like a suit of armor, hiding all of the other signs of exhaustion and injury.<p>

He looked like anything _but_ a target for a shadow police force – but, of course, looks could be deceiving.

The ride in to the office was quiet, each of them lost in his own thoughts. Peter was concentrating on the logistics of getting Neal's statement, and wondering how to get Sara's statement without endangering her location. He knew Neal would be able to produce detailed sketches of their abductors, but would they be enough to identify the men – and tie them to Donnelly?

And while he knew Neal was right, that an investigation could very well make him a target, the agent in him argued that he couldn't just leave this for someone else to investigate. Maybe he could get El to go out of town for a while…

From the far-away look in Neal's eyes, Peter realized he had no idea what his partner was thinking during the drive.

_Partner._

That was the first time he'd thought about Neal in those terms since before Elizabeth had been kidnapped. Actually, since before Kramer had come to town and convinced Peter to treat Neal like a suspect, and not like a friend, or partner.

And now he wasn't sure if it was too late to salvage that partnership.

They got to the office, riding up to the twenty-first floor in lingering silence. Around the office, the other agents who were already in just looked on in surprise as they walked in.

_Of course. Only Jones and Diana had been at the Coast Guard station, and had known that Neal was back._

At least they weren't mobbed immediately with demands for an explanation. But that would certainly come later, probably around the coffee pot.

Leaving Neal at his desk with instructions to start on the sketches, Peter headed upstairs. He'd seen Hughes come to the doorway of his office when they came in, and he knew his boss would be waiting for an update.

Then they could make arrangements to get Neal's official statement, and decide where to go from there.


	13. The Players

By the time they gathered in the conference room a little over an hour later, several things had happened.

Peter gave Hughes a brief recap of what Neal had told him. The senior agent agreed to make a few of the necessary inter-agency calls, and said he'd be there for the debriefing. There would, however, be no official notification to the NYPD at this time.

Since the FBI involvement had begun as a search for a _presumed_ escaped consultant, Hughes had no choice but to notify OPR of the developments. The internal investigations branch was sending someone over to take part in the meeting. The legal department also wanted someone there.

Missing Persons was notified that there was no longer anyone missing, so they could redirect their efforts to other cases.

Peter made an unofficial report to Captain Shattuck, who showed up shortly thereafter with two of the detectives under his command. Shattuck had finally managed to find a source for the names of the men who had signed out the SUV and the van identified as being involved in the kidnapping.

Two deputies from the US Marshals service had arrived, with a directive from their superiors to determine why their agency had been drawn into a manhunt for a fugitive, only to have said fugitive yanked from their custody after he was apprehended. Hughes pointed out that arresting a beaten and exhausted man who had just gotten off a Coast guard helicopter after surviving two days afloat in a small emergency raft was not exactly the same as a capture after a cinema-worthy pursuit with car chases and explosions. Then he wearily invited them to stay for the debriefing.

Jones had called his prosecutor friend, Carolyn Hanish, and she arrived with two people from her staff. They still hadn't gotten permission to release the grand jury testimony transcript, but they were hoping for additional ammunition to use in the case against Donnelly.

Neal completed three sketches while they waited. After getting copies made for use in the meeting, Peter sent Blake and Westley down to personally shepherd the process of running the drawings through the facial recognition program. They'd pay particular attention to the NYPD database of current and former members.

When they finally gathered, the conference room was full. Marshals Tim Kolb and Kevin Tebore sat together near one end of the table. Next to them were the prosecutors – Carolyn Hanish, Walt Sherman, and Nikki Haller. Across the table, Dave Shattuck was flanked by his detectives, Linda Peralski and Clive Jordan. Norman Boone, the OPR representative, was next to them. Jeff Novacek, from the Bureau's legal department, set up equipment in the front of the room to record the proceedings. The FBI's contingent was rounded out by Hughes, Peter, Jones, and Diana.

And Neal.

If Neal was shaken by being the focus of such a large group, he didn't show it – much. Peter figured only those who knew the younger man the best would have even noticed the briefest hesitation in his step when he came through the door, or the tapping of his fingers against his leg.

They started with introductions, followed by arguments. The marshals only wanted to know why their time had been wasted chasing a fugitive if the FBI was now saying the fugitive… wasn't a fugitive. OPR wanted the entire room cleared of all non-senior FBI personnel. The police wanted everyone to stop lumping the entire department into the group that was being blamed for everything. The legal department wanted everyone to speak clearly into a microphone – and one at a time, please. The prosecution team wanted to move the entire statement-taking process to the courthouse where they had colleagues trying to reconvene the standing grand jury.

_And to Peter it didn't take much reading between the lines to know that Hanish and her team wanted Neal's sworn testimony on record… before something else could happen to him._

Hughes finally slammed a hardback copy of the warrant law manual down on the table to get everyone's attention. And then he laid out the guidelines – everyone sit down, shut up, and don't speak out of turn, or else be asked (politely, of course) to leave the room.

Peter started by giving an overview of the last few days. It had started simply enough, with a search for a missing consultant.

_And, well, he may have glossed over that his own initial assumption was that Neal had somehow cut and run…_

Jones presented an overview of the documents found on the micro-SD card recovered from Neal's phone. It had been their first real clue as to what might actually have been behind the disappearance of two people. Agents had poured through all of the pages, compiling a list of names and deeds alleged by Koontz.

They had managed to track some of the financial transactions from Koontz's files, and Diana presented that. She also had a list of the bank warrants that they were waiting on approval for.

Then it was Neal's turn.

Since they were also using this as an opportunity to get his official statement, Hughes took the lead, walking Neal through various questions. They covered everything, from the first time Neal had seen the files, to his and Sara's attempt to evade their pursuers, to the interrogation on the yacht, and finally their escape, survival at sea, and eventual rescue.

"So, at any point, were you trying to escape your custody arrangement with the FBI?" Hughes asked as they were nearing the end.

Neal shook his head. "No, sir. When I left the office, I planned to go to lunch, and be back here for a briefing on a case at one o'clock. Once Sara showed me those files, the plan changed to both of us coming here. But men with Tasers, drugs, guns, and a boat kind of changed that."

"And your testimony is that these men met up with someone named Ryan who had a key to your tracking anklet?"

"Yes, sir."

Hughes turned to the marshals. "Well, I think we've taken care of the reasons why the fugitive warrant was rescinded. And may I suggest, gentlemen, that you do a little digging in your own ranks and find this Ryan fellow."

It was quite clear that the marshals were being dismissed. Exchanging a glance with each other, Kolb and Tebore stood up. "Next time, make sure before you open a warrant," Kolb said.

Tebore opened his briefcase and pulled out a new tracking anklet, setting it on the table along with two keys. "Someone needs to sign for this."

Peter got up and reached for the form the marshal held out, scribbled his signature, and handed it back.

Tebore took the form, and then pointed at the anklet. "Do you want us to…"

"No, we'll take it from here," Peter said.

The two marshals left, and while the door was open anyway, Blake took the opportunity to slip in and hand a file to Hughes.

The senior agent took a moment to look at the contents, and then he removed the thumb drive clipped on top and handed it to Jones. "Put this on screen."

Jones went right to work, and a few seconds later he had three photos displayed on the video screen. Everyone in the room had leaned forward to look – and now they looked from the screen to the whiteboard where Neal's sketches had been posted.

It didn't take an expert opinion to recognize that the photos and the sketches were of the same men.

Neal was the only one not switching his attention back and forth between the screen and the drawings. "Definitely," he said nodding. "The one on the right is the guy who said his name was Gavin."

"Gavin Harper," Hughes said, reading from the file. "Current assignment, One Police Plaza."

Shattuck shook his head slowly. "And the other two?"

"Also police. One active, one retired." Hughes nodded to Jones, and the agent brought up the next file on the screen.

The group read silently – except for a couple of muted curses from the police representatives, who were looking at damning evidence against some of their own.

Carolyn Hanish conferred quickly with her team and then stood up. "We need to get a photo lineup to Sara Ellis," she said. "No offense, Mr. Caffrey, but…"

"I know. As a witness, I'd be easy to attack." He gave a small shrug. "There's a reason I don't testify in the cases I work on."

"Your testimony will still be helpful," Hanish replied. "But it will definitely be stronger with backup."

"I can put together a photo spread, take it out there," Jones offered.

"I'd like one of my people to be there," Carolyn said. "And I'd like a copy of today's recording."

"Done." Hughes turned to Novacek. "I think we're done. Certify the recording, make a copy, and get it back to me."

Peter was studying the sketches. "Neal, how many more can you identify?"

"One more from the boat," Neal replied. "And I got a pretty good look at a couple of the others who grabbed us."

"All right, figure a couple of hours to get the sketches, and run facial recognition," Peter started.

"Why not just have Neal go through the department photos?" the female detective, Peralski, suggested.

"The documents suggest that Donnelly's got people from outside the NYPD too," Diana pointed out.

"And Neal's sketches can be run against multiple databases at the same time," Peter added.

"All right, Neal sketches, and we'll run them for matches," Hughes said. "Then we'll put together an array for Jones to take to Ms. Ellis."

"I'll give you a call when I have everything," Jones told Carolyn. "You can send someone."

Hanish nodded. "That'll be fine." She snapped her briefcase closed and started for the door. "I just want something that these guys can't slip out of."

Novacek followed the prosecution team out, leaving the FBI and police contingents in the room.

Hughes eyed the OPR agent, who was still sitting at the table. "Anything else that OPR needs?"

Boone shrugged. "We'd like a chance to interview Caffrey ourselves."

Peter shook his head right away. "No. That's not going to happen."

"Caffrey's given his statement," Hughes said. "And he has work to do here."

Boone's smile was anything but friendly as he finally stood up. "Well, if we don't get to talk to him before, we'll just have to add our questions to the hearing on Tuesday."

"I'm sure it'll be loads of fun," Neal muttered.

Boone's smile was gone as he leaned over the table next to Neal. "No, it won't. Bring a good lawyer."

It looked like the OPR agent was going to say something else – until Peter grabbed his arm, propelling him toward the door. "I'm sure you were just on your way out."

"We can investigate you too, Burke," Boone called out as he left.

"Bring it on," Peter threw back as he slammed the door.

"Bet that felt good," Diana said.

"You have no idea," Peter admitted.

Neal just shook his head. "Not a good move."

That got a raised eyebrow and a small smile from Peter. "Oh, now you're going to lecture me on acting without thinking things through?"

"They're coming after me, Peter. There's no sense making yourself a target too." Neal sighed, staring down at his hands on the table. "Look, do you need anything else from me, or should I go and start sketching?"

Peter pulled out a chair and sat down again. "Before, you said you had an idea on how to take down Donnelly. What was it?"

"It's no good. This isn't even an FBI case. Just let the DA's office handle it," Neal replied.

Shattuck pulled his chair a little closer. "Whoever does it, we need to stop Donnelly. If you've got an idea, I'd like to hear it."

Neal finally nodded. "All right. They got my ID, so they know who I am and where I live. It makes sense they'll come looking for me. I'd say take the offensive, go to them first."

"Set up a meeting with Donnelly," Peter said.

"Exactly," Neal replied. "I go to him, tell him I don't know anything about the original documents he's looking for. But I do have skills that he might find interesting, and useful."

"If they got your FBI credentials, they'll probably figure it's a trap," Diana pointed out.

"They did get the FBI ID," Neal confirmed. "But if they check me out, they'll find out about next Tuesday's hearing. With the specter of prison hanging over my head, I'm looking for a way to disappear off the FBI's radar. Donnelly obviously has someone who can get the anklet off. So, he can help me, and I can help them. And if I can get him agreeing on tape…"

"We can take the shadow force down," Jones finished.

Hughes was nodding slowly. "That actually might work."

"Assuming Donnelly's men don't just shoot you first before giving you a chance to talk," Peter added.

"That's always a chance," Neal admitted. "But what else do you have? From what you've said, even if the grand jury indicts, it won't mean much on the current evidence with Koontz dead, right?"

Jones sighed and nodded. "That's pretty much what Carolyn said."

"But apparently Donnelly isn't sure if Koontz had handed over all of the documents," Neal continued. "That's what they were after with Sara and me. We can use that."

"By making yourself a target." Shattuck looked at the records still displayed. "These guys have already proven they don't fool around."

Neal's reply was quiet but firm. "And I'm a target either way. There just might be a way to use that. This isn't an FBI case though. It would have to be through the local DA's office."

The two detectives had been conferring quietly, and now Peralski spoke up. "You really have a new prison sentence in the balance?"

Neal shrugged. "There's definitely a hearing on Tuesday. And going back to prison has always been held over my head since I started doing this. It's certainly a possibility."

Jordan followed up. "So how do we know…"

"That I won't try to make the deal for real?" Neal finished. "First, these guys have already tried to kill me. That doesn't put them high on my trustworthy scale. And second, I'm here. When we were rescued, I did all of the communication with the one crewman who spoke French – not a language Sara understands outside of a few tourist phrases. And I was the only one who went into the radio room to contact the Coast Guard. I could have given them any names, made up some other story. It wouldn't have been hard."

"Well, if we do this, I can supply some back-up," Shattuck offered. "People I know can be trusted."

Hughes sighed and stood up. "We'll keep that in mind. I think we have a lot to consider before trying to set up an operation like this. Neal, you get those sketches done so we can try and match a few more names and faces. Work with Jones to get them run through the system. Berrigan, talk to the tech folks. See what kind of secure communications we can set up so we can talk to Ms. Ellis. And Peter? My office. We've got a lot to discuss."


	14. Action

The rest of Thursday passed quickly, a flurry of activity.

Neal's sketches identified two more suspects, one a current police officer, and one a former marshal. The final sketch remained unidentified, and Blake was running it against an expanded database that included international sources.

Carolyn Hanish returned just after noon. She liked Neal's plan to draw out Donnelly, but wasn't sure how soon her office could be set up to run it; she'd have to do some checking and get back to them. She did, however, have the grand jury convening on Friday, and Neal was scheduled to testify in the morning. If they could work out security arrangements to get her there safely, Hanish wanted Sara to testify in the afternoon.

Leaving Peter and Diana to work out the arrangements to bring Sara back to town the next day, Jones and Hanish headed for the Hamptons. They had a photo lineup for Sara to review, as well as a couple of high tech toys that Diana had arranged – a laptop with a secured channel, and an encrypted satellite phone.

By mid-afternoon, even coffee from Neal's favorite shop down the block wasn't doing much to keep him awake after the week he'd endured. Hughes finally took pity and sent Neal up to his office, and the couch it contained. Peter's office took over as the site of continued security discussions with his boss.

By the time Peter was ready to call it a day, Jones had called back with the news that Sara had identified the same suspects as Neal. He and Hanish had recorded her full statement and, pending the security arrangements, she was prepared to give her testimony the next day. Hughes and Peter worked with Dave Shattuck until all parties were satisfied that it was safe to bring Sara in to testify.

With the office quieting down for the night, Peter finally woke Neal with the offer of food and a ride home.

And he, somewhat reluctantly, attached the new anklet to Neal's leg.

* * *

><p>Peter pulled up along the curb in front of June's, but just as Neal reached for the handle to open his door, the agent clicked the lock button.<p>

Neal considered simply using the UN-lock button on his side of the car, but curiosity won out. "I've really had enough of being kidnapped and held against my will for this week, if you don't mind."

"I think we should just pack a bag for you, and then you should come home with me."

"Peter, we've been through this. June has a great security system."

"And we know the nearest precinct to respond to any alarm has been infiltrated. One of the drivers…"

"I know, Peter. I identified him."

"Where there's one, there could be more."

"Well, I'm not going to be bait to bring them to Brooklyn. And if they _do_ come here, you know where the security recordings are."

Neal unlocked his door and got out, closing the door again without looking back. It was easier to put on the air of bravado if he didn't look Peter in the eye. He was fitting his key into the lock when he heard Peter get out of the car and come up behind him. "Are you planning to babysit me? You put the tracking anklet back on," he said, pulling up the leg of his pants to demonstrate. "You'll know where I am."

"Yeah, and the other side can find you that way too," Peter pointed out. He unsnapped his holster and drew his pistol, holding it by his side. "I intend to make sure no one's waiting inside."

Neal opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. After all of the recent trouble between them, there was something comforting about knowing that Peter… cared.

And hopefully it was more than just not wanting to do all of the paperwork that would ensue if a criminal consultant in the FBI's custody were to meet an untimely end.

He opened the door, and then stepped aside as Peter pushed past, gun leading the way. Neal closed and locked the door, and then fell into step behind him.

They made a methodical search but, just like that morning, there was no one in the house, and no sign that anyone had been there. Neal's apartment was the final stop, and both men seemed to breathe easier when it was also empty.

Peter re-holstered his gun as he came out of the back hall. "Well, you seem to be alone."

"Under the circumstances, I guess that's good."

"Yeah, it is. And hopefully Hughes can get a protection detail approved tomorrow."

"I think he'll get the same answer as today – it's too much expense for an ex-con."

"That's not exactly how they put it."

Neal just smiled. "Close enough." He set a bottle of wine on the counter and opened the cupboard, making a deliberate show of pulling out a goblet – just one. "Go home, Peter. I'll be fine."

"You're sure you have everything you need?"

"Positive."

"All right. Come down and lock up after me, and I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

><p>Quiet reigned for the next couple of days, though no one was ready to let his or her guard down.<p>

Thursday night saw no attempts by anyone to get into June's house. That didn't mean that Neal got much sleep – way too many things to think about – but at least it wasn't because he was fighting off intruders.

His grand jury testimony on Friday morning went off without a hitch. Even though there was no defense attorney to do a cross-examination, Carolyn Hanish wanted to make sure that the jurors were aware of all of the facts before making a decision on an indictment. After discussing it with Neal before going into the room, she led him through questions about his previous career, his arrest and prison time, as well as his current involvement with the FBI. Then she called Peter as a witness in a brief appearance to validate Neal's testimony.

Sara was brought back to town under heavy secrecy to testify in the afternoon. Neal was already gone, and they didn't have a chance to meet due to security concerns. But they did have a chance to talk briefly on the phone while Jones and Shattuck were confirming the details of her return trip to the Hamptons. It wasn't much, but it was at least a chance to verify for each other that they were really fine after their ordeal.

Hughes was willing to approve a team to watch Neal's apartment, but the request was blocked at a higher level. It didn't take too much digging to find out that the roadblock was from OPR, which brought back Boone's threat to commandeer Tuesday's hearing. Shattuck was trying to get some officers tasked, but they had to move carefully on that end too so as not to alert anyone who might be working for Donnelly.

Neal spent Saturday cooped up in his apartment, on Peter's orders. He'd tried to argue, but Peter had simply threatened to call the marshals and officially restrict his radius to the house. That, somehow, seemed even more restrictive than just agreeing to stay home, so Neal promised.

He was marginally surprised when there was a knock on his door just before noon, and he opened it to find Peter there. Claiming to have just been in the neighborhood, Peter unloaded a bag of takeout Chinese food onto the table, and opened another bag to reveal a six-pack of beer and a bottle of wine – even _with_ a cork, as Peter took pains to point out. And honestly, the wine wasn't bad – which was good, because it helped take his thoughts off of the mind-numbing boredom he felt at the baseball game Peter insisted on watching.

Peter's feigned surprise when Diana showed up later in the afternoon was much greater than Neal's actual surprise. She had some cold case art theft files that she had just _happened_ to chance upon and needed to discuss. She also had Greek takeout with her and they dined on gyros and spanakopita and baklava over a bottle of wine.

They never quite got around to looking at more than one file. Fortunately, Diana preferred a good action flick to baseball, so they passed a couple of pleasant hours dissecting The Bourne Identity.

By the time Jones showed up later in the evening, a bottle of Scotch in hand, Neal wasn't surprised at all. He thought about protesting that he shouldn't combine wine and hard liquor… but it had, honestly, never been a problem before. He did try the protest that he didn't need a babysitter, but it was half-hearted, and Jones had just smiled and asked where the glasses were.

Most of the bottle of whiskey later, Jones was sacked out on the couch, claiming to be too drunk to even take a cab home. Neal had a few suspicions about that – Jones was sober enough to make a security sweep before going to sleep, he refused Neal's offer to show him to one of the guest rooms June always kept ready, and the agent made sure to place his service weapon _just so_ in order to have it readily at hand, should the need arise.

Truthfully, it made Neal feel good to know that Diana and Jones would give up their time off to make sure he was safe. After the tension of the last couple of months, he wasn't sure he'd ever experience that again.

Something else he'd miss after Tuesday, if…

But he couldn't let himself think about that now. They were still hoping that Hanish might get the sting approved and set up for Monday.

So he went to bed, finally falling asleep to the sound of Jones' snoring.

On Sunday morning, Neal cooked breakfast – ham and mushroom omelet, hash browns, bacon, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. After they ate, Jones offered to stay a while, ostensibly to go over the other files Diana had left behind, but Neal pointed out that he could review the files all by himself. He virtually pushed Jones out the door, promising to call if anything seemed out of the ordinary. In return, he tried to get Jones to promise to call off anyone who might just _happen_ to be planning to stop by that day. The agent refused to commit to that, but admitted no one else was expected soon.

In retrospect, that turned out to be a mistake.

It was less than an hour after Jones left when they showed up…

* * *

><p>With the apartment to himself again, Neal cleaned up. He washed and dried the dishes from the day before and put them away. If he really never came back again after Tuesday, he wouldn't leave a mess for June.<p>

He considered calling Peter and repeating his request for no surprise visitors that day, but that probably wouldn't do any good. Maybe he'd pull up the security feeds on the television and at least have some warning. But that could wait, and in the end, he just headed for the shower.

The water was hot, the pressure wonderful, and even though he knew it wasn't really the case, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was still dried sea salt on his skin and in his hair. So he took his time, lathering an extra round or two, and finally emerged feeling much better. Dressing casually in khakis and a polo, he made his way out to the front room, still toweling his hair.

And found that he wasn't alone.

Gavin was there, standing near the balcony doors. Two other men were standing near the open door into the apartment, and there were footsteps coming up the stairs.

For a moment, Neal considered simply turning around and racing back into the hallway. Having used the space as a speakeasy, Byron and Ford had designed a couple of escape routes into the top floor. But it was a reasonable assumption that Gavin could have more people watching the house. And, realistically, he was barefoot, with no money or phone or anything else in his empty pockets.

He opted for the confidence route.

Striding into the room with as much self-assurance as he could muster, Neal stopped by the counter in the kitchenette. He dropped his towel over the sink, using the action to cover his movement as he picked something up and slipped it into his pocket. "I'd be lying if I said it was good to see you again," he said, turning to face Gavin.

The grin on the other man's face was anything but friendly. "Well, we hadn't finished our little chat. Wasn't nice of you to leave early."

"It was such a nice night for a swim. We just couldn't resist." Neal pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

Gavin started to reply, but paused as another man came into the room. "Found it," the new man said, holding up a disk. "I stopped the surveillance recorder, and this has everything showing us. Everything else is wiped."

"Excellent. Take it down to Jeri, have her get rid of it." Gavin turned back to Neal, the same sickly sweet smile on his face. "We don't need cameras recording our little visit, do we, Neal?"

Neal had rarely been so appreciative of Mozzie's paranoia – knowing that the 'little visit' was, in fact, still recorded was at least a small comfort. "I didn't dress for the cameras anyway. But there's really nothing more I can tell you – I still don't know where the original documents or the micro-SD are."

Gavin grabbed a chair across the table from Neal, spun it around, and straddled it. "Maybe we can start with some new questions, like how much you've told your Fed friends."

"I told them everything," Neal admitted, and then he leaned forward over the table. "But here's the thing, Gavin – they don't trust me much. The word of a con artist doesn't count for much without corroboration, especially when I'm trying to tell them that New York's finest are the bad guys."

"Your girlfriend won't back you up?"

"Well, Sara was smart, and she cleared out." Neal kicked his left foot up onto the table, the anklet obvious. "I don't have that option."

"Too bad for you. If you can't tell me anything, I guess you're of no use to me."

It was Neal's turn to smile. "I may not be able to tell you anything. But let me clue you in to what I can _do_ for you…"

* * *

><p>The federal building was quiet, the lobby area dark as Jones entered the building. That was normal for a Sunday morning, unless there was some high security alert. There were certainly agents in the building, monitoring cases. And the evidence team had people on premises around the clock. But for the most part, weekend access was employees only, and few would choose to be there if it wasn't necessary.<p>

_He_ wouldn't be there… if he hadn't left the tickets to that afternoon's Mets game in his desk. After making another long round-trip drive to get Sara Ellis back to the Hamptons on Friday, he'd forgotten to stop and get them.

It would be good to get out to the stadium, spend the afternoon in the fresh air. Afterward, he could see if Peter needed him to cover another shift with Neal.

_Though maybe not with a bottle of Scotch again… He was getting too old for back-to-back hangovers._

There was no one else on the twenty-first floor. White Collar crime didn't take days off, but only major cases got round the clock coverage.

It was sheer force of habit that made him switch on his computer monitor when he got to his desk.

Jones shook his head, smiling at the ingrained action. He retrieved the tickets, went to turn the monitor off again… and stopped, his attention caught by the activity shown on one of the programs.

It was a monitoring program, specifically tied to the _eagle_ recording and GPS pen that they had used on several cases. But there were no active cases…

He clicked on the program and turned up the volume.

"_Look, I have skills your boss, Donnelly can use."_

"_Yeah? Like what?"_

"_Crack a safe, forge some documents, retrieve things from impenetrable places."_

"_And why should we believe you'd want to do that?"_

"_Why don't you call him…"_

Jones turned the volume down, verified that the recording feature was working, and dialed the phone. It was answered on the second ring. "Peter, this is Jones. It's about Neal."

"_I'm heading over there in about an hour or so."_

"No, Peter, we need to go now. Donnelly's men are there."

"_What?"_

"I'm at the office. Neal must have picked up the _eagle_ pen. It's transmitting right now."

"_Damn!"_ Jones could hear some banging in the background before Peter came back on the line. _"All right, I'm leaving the house in three minutes. Call Diana, see if she's available. And get the hostage rescue team moving. I'll call Dave Shattuck from the car and see if he can send some backup."_

"Got it." Jones was already scrolling for the HRT contact information. "I'll meet you there."

* * *

><p>"Damn!" Peter swore loudly, then muttered a few more choice words after banging his toe against the bed frame. He sat down, forcing his shoe onto his sore foot anyway.<p>

"Peter?" Elizabeth 's voice came from the doorway and he looked up. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath and stood up. "They've gone after Neal."

"The people who kidnapped him and Sara before?"

"Yes."

"Then stop them, Peter. End this."

"We will."

"And make sure Neal is all right."

He smiled and paused, just for a moment, kissing her forehead. "That's the plan, El. That's the plan."


	15. Partners

When Cyril Donnelly himself appeared at the door to his apartment, Neal knew he had almost won. All he had to do was stay conscious long enough to get the deputy commissioner on the recording.

Well, maybe not _all_…

He also had to hope that someone – Peter, Diana, Jones – would discover the recording. He hadn't mentioned Mozzie's other addition to June's security – namely, the relay that would enable the _eagle_ to transmit downtown. With any luck, at least some of the conversation was reaching the office. It was probably too much to expect that someone would discover it today – he couldn't recall a reason that anyone would be in the office on Sunday this week. But the recording program should show some activity on Monday. The rest would be recorded, assuming that the pen was found later.

He needed to stay alive long enough to make sure of that.

After his treatment at the hands of Gavin and his men, that could be problematic. He probably had another couple of cracked ribs and there was a stabbing pain in his left leg, in addition to new bruises and cuts. And that was even _after_ pointing out how useful he could be.

Donnelly walked into the room, stopping in front of Neal. "Well, Mr. Caffrey, you're certainly proving to be an interesting man."

Neal shrugged through the pain. "I do my best."

Donnelly grinned – and it was about as friendly as Gavin's earlier look. "Here's my problem, Neal – can I call you Neal? You've been in the FBI's pocket for a long time. How can I trust you?"

Neal sighed, his face a mask of annoyed impatience. "Like I told your man Gavin here, I'm facing a hearing on Tuesday. It should be easy enough for you to verify that. Maybe they commute my sentence – and maybe they throw me back inside until the next millennium. My money's on the latter. And it shouldn't take a genius to figure that a guy who's worked for the Feds for almost three years isn't going to fare well in prison."

"So this is a mutual interest thing?"

"It is." Neal put on his most earnest look. "It's simple. I have a lot of skills, and I'm very good at what I do. As for you – you obviously have connections. You can get this anklet off of me, help me disappear off the Feds' radar."

Donnelly grinned again, though it seemed somewhat softer now. "And this would earn your eternal gratitude?"

"I'm sure we could come to an agreement on remuneration. I can be a very reasonable guy. And it's a good deal for both of us."

"You'd really sell out the Feds, and your girlfriend?"

Neal leaned forward, selling his story. "The Feds are selling me out. They dangle a carrot, and deliver a stick. I've put my life on the line for them time after time, and what do I get? I get an OPR agent telling me to bring a good lawyer."

Donnelly seemed to be considering that for a long moment. "You know, we just might be able to work something out. We got word that Barry Koontz had a safety deposit box, which just might contain certain materials that I'm interested in. Think you could find a way to access it?"

"A bank? Sure. I've done it before. Just give me a couple of days to scope it out."

"Well…"

Donnelly stopped, and all attention was turned to the door as someone came running up the stairs, fast.

The man who had previously found the security recording stood in the doorway, breathing hard. "We got company. Flashing lights, just down the block."

"Doesn't mean they're coming here," Gavin started.

The crashing sound of a door being opened by force belied that line of thought.

Donnelly turned on Neal, an angry glare in his eyes. "You set this up," he growled, reaching for his gun.

Neal was on his feet, letting the _eagle_ drop to the floor as he slowly backed up, hands raised. "No, they must have followed you or one of your men."

The three guns that were now pointed at him didn't waiver.

There were more footsteps on the stairs now, coming up fast. But maybe not fast enough…

Neal backed up a couple more steps. "I don't know why they're here."

"Maybe not," Donnelly said. "But now you're just a loose end. We came here to investigate a tip, an ex-con got violent. Such a sad ending."

Neal dove for the door into the hallway as the first shots rang out. One, two…

The third one struck him just as he got through the door and he went down. He was vaguely aware of more gunshots, lots of shouting, and the overwhelming pain in his side.

And then Peter was there, kneeling down next to him. "Neal?"

Hand shaking, he grabbed onto Peter's arm. "Please tell me you got this recorded."

"Yeah, we got it." Peter settled onto the floor, pulling Neal up against his leg. "And I've got you. The ambulance is on the way…"

* * *

><p>Peter stopped in the doorway, looking into the room. The stark white walls seemed cold and uninviting, as did the monitors that were beeping away. But at least the beeps were steady and strong, which was a good sign.<p>

Neal appeared to be sleeping, the hospital bed reclined and his head facing away, toward the windows. For a moment, Peter debated leaving and coming back later. But just then Neal turned, his eyes opening.

"Hi, Peter."

Peter smiled and walked into the room. "Neal. How are you feeling?"

Neal shrugged, and then winced a bit at the pain the action caused. "Like I have four cracked ribs, a hairline fracture of my left fibula, a bruised kidney – and more assorted general contusions than I care to think about. Oh, there's a mild concussion too."

"You were also shot."

"Turns out that was just a flesh wound," Neal replied. "The ribs hurt more."

Peter pulled up a chair and sat down. "Yeah, I've had cracked ribs. Hurts to breathe, but not breathing doesn't work so well either."

"Exactly."

"They at least have you on some good pain meds?"

"They did overnight. I asked them to stop."

"Why? If you're in pain, the drugs can help."

"The doctor said she can't really assess how I'm doing if I'm high on drugs."

"You do get loopy. Were you singing again?"

"Not that I recall."

"Lucky doctor," Peter mumbled.

"Hey, some people like my singing!"

"Sure, Caruso."

"It wasn't opera," Neal muttered.

"What's the rush on the assessment?"

"Dr. Bartz needs to sign the release papers if I'm going to make the hearing tomorrow. Unless, of course, you're here to help me break out."

"Are you thinking the stunning leap from rooftop to rooftop, or the mad dash across the back lot?"

Neal sighed and slid his left leg out from under the blanket, revealing the lightweight cast encasing it. "I was thinking more the plan where you flash your badge and then roll me out in a wheelchair."

"You in some particular hurry?"

"It could be my last night without bars. I don't want to spend it here."

It was Peter's turn to sigh. "Neal, it could also be the night before your sentence is commuted."

"Right. That's why I've got this." Neal pulled his left hand up a few inches – enough to make the handcuffs _clink_ against the metal bedrail.

Peter was on his feet, staring. "Diana didn't say anything about that."

"It wasn't her. She came to the hospital with me like you told her to, took the anklet off when they had to do x-rays on my leg. I figured she'd put it back on the other ankle later, but she just told me to behave."

"So what…"

"Agent Boone showed up. He reminded me again to bring a good lawyer, and added the cuffs."

Peter started to reach for his pocket, but stopped, staring down at his clothes. He was still wearing the jeans and polo he'd had on when he rushed out of the house on Sunday; they'd spent the whole night running down suspects and he hadn't gotten home. "I don't have my keys. But…" He fished in his pocket, coming out with his Swiss army knife. "Anything here you can use?"

"You're authorizing me to remove the cuffs put on by OPR?"

"Well, unless you can't pick them…"

Neal grabbed the knife, studied the tools for a moment, and opened one. He worked at the lock for about thirty seconds before there was a soft _click_ and he pulled his wrist free. Another brief wait ensued while he opened the other cuff, and then he handed both the cuffs and the knife to Peter. "I assume you'll want to return those."

Peter nodded, pocketing the knife. "My thoughts exactly. Neal…"

"It is what it is, Peter," Neal said softly. "Even if Keller did take credit for the treasure, we both know that Boone can come up with enough to at least get me a probation violation, if not new charges."

"You have a little over a year left on the original sentence."

"Except now I'm a known FBI informant. I won't make it a year."

Peter sucked in a deep breath, sinking back down onto the chair. "Neal, if – _if_ – that happens, it's a year. You can do it in solitary."

The sad smile on Neal's face sent chills down Peter's spine. "Let me tell you a story, Peter. Say a guy does his twenty on the NYPD and takes his pension. He moves out of the city. Where does he look for a job?"

The answer was obvious, and deflating. "I imagine a prison would be a good place."

"Lots of ex-cops there. Some of them probably know Donnelly. And you might be surprised how many guys die in solitary."

"Shit."

"It's not news to me, Peter. You know, back in the early days, when it seemed like you threatened to send me back at least every other day, it wouldn't have been so bad. Would have screwed up my search for Kate, but I had contacts, protection. Even after the plane explosion, when OPR sent me back, it was still all right. I mean, none of the cases I worked on had made it through the courts yet. There were some rumors, but I could deal with that."

"It's more than rumors now."

"Yeah. But like I said, it's not news. Except for the Donnelly connection, I've known all along. And I never really believed the commutation would happen. There was this small hope that they'd just leave things as they were, let me finish out my time with you. After everything with Keller though, that's not what you want."

And that left Peter silent, wondering what exactly he _did_ want. As angry as he had been with Neal, he also couldn't imagine life _without_ Neal.

_As was so often the case, El was right – Neal __was__ a part of their lives, had been for quite a while…_

He looked up, aware that Neal had been speaking. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I just wanted to know if there's a chance you can get me out of here."

Peter got to his feet, pausing to rest a hand on Neal's arm. "Give me a little time. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

><p>"Sure, that's fine. Thanks for calling ahead."<p>

Sara disconnected the call and went to the window, watching as the headlights approached the house. The caller was Jones, saying that he was on the way up the long driveway so no need to worry.

Actually, though she was surprised, she was also pleased by the visit. As beautiful as the home and the area might be, it was lonely being there… alone. And even with the secure laptop and phone, she still didn't know much of what was going on.

She went to the door and opened it as the car pulled to a stop in the circular drive out front. Jones got out, opened the back door, and pulled out a duffel bag.

_Wait, was that Neal getting out – and on crutches?_

Sara hurried down the stairs. "What happened?"

Jones turned back toward her, closing the car door. "There have been a few developments in the case."

Neal came toward her, moving carefully with the crutches. "Can you handle some company for a night or two?"

"Of course."

Sara and Jones both hovered as Neal maneuvered the steps, but he managed on his own. Then she opened the door and led the way inside.

"Must be some story," Sara remarked.

"I had another little chat with Gavin and some of his buddies," Neal said. He lowered himself carefully into a recliner near the door.

"But Neal managed to get Donnelly on tape, bargaining for his services," Jones added. "The guys we caught are tripping over each other trying to give up names and make deals."

Sara dropped down onto the sofa. "So I might be able to go home soon?"

Jones nodded. "Peter said for you to hang out here for a little while longer, until they get things sorted out. But hopefully it won't be too long."

"Hopefully you can handle me crashing on the couch until then," Neal said.

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll be glad to have some company. But what about the hearing?"

Neal shrugged. "I'm not sure. When Peter got me out of the hospital this afternoon, he put me in the car with Jones, and now we're here. He said he'd take care of dealing with the panel, so I guess he's going to ask for a delay, give me a little chance to heal."

Sara looked to Jones, but he just shook his head. "I don't know any more about it either. My instructions were to get Neal here. But if it's all right, I'll stay over. Kind of late to start the drive back."

"Sure, you know there's plenty of room. Did you eat on the way up?"

Neal shook his head. "No, we didn't."

Sara got to her feet, heading for the kitchen. "Well, I was actually just going to call for some takeout. I'll order for three. And then you can tell me what's happened."

* * *

><p>The room designated for the hearing was small, and there were already a number of people there when Peter walked in. A long table had been set up at one end, with five chairs behind it. He didn't know any of the people from the probation board, but the man on the far end was all too familiar.<p>

There was a smaller table, with one chair set up facing the front of the room. Peter set his stack of files down on that table and then walked toward the front, pulling something out of his pocket.

"I think these belong to you," he said, tossing the handcuffs down in front of where Norman Boone stood. And he didn't wait for a reply, simply turned and walked back to the table.

Hughes and Diana had added more files to the collection by then, and were now sitting just behind him as Peter pulled out the chair and sat down.

The woman who was standing near the center seat stared at him, a puzzled look on her face. "You're Peter Burke, aren't you?"

Peter nodded. "I am."

"I don't understand, Agent Burke. This hearing is concerning Neal Caffrey, not you. And in two minutes he'll be considered late."

"Neal Caffrey won't be here today."

"Now see here, Burke…" Boone started.

Peter cut him off. "Neal is recovering from injuries sustained on Sunday while helping to uncover a large-scale corruption scheme within the police department."

The woman in charge studied him for a moment, then slowly nodded. "We would have appreciated some notice about this. But we can reschedule…"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure I can answer any questions to your satisfaction." Peter pulled the first case file from the pile and opened it. "But first, let me make a statement about my _partner…_"


End file.
